“I’m sure we can work out a method which gives you independence. I thought it took some courage to do that this morning.”
“You wouldn’t have thought so if you’d known how terrified I was that I’d fall.”
“No, that would have taken even more courage. Huoinevol district has a brave, wise governor.”
Juimei turned to him in surprise. “But I’ve been awful to you.”
“Whatever my personal feelings, I’d say the same,” Wepizi said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled again. “But don’t assume a grudge once taken, can never be set aside, your highness. It’s contrary to Sephiz’s will, and my own inclination.”
A rare spirit. A very rare spirit indeed. “Then Huoinevol district has a kind and generous tezrei as well.”
“Thank you. Now, here we are.”
~~~~~~~~
Wepizi hadn’t thought the governor’s residence was that large, but an astonishing number of people had been squeezed inside it. Elderly and invalid people were everywhere, sitting on pallets, walking slowly through the small amount of free space, or sitting on chairs, being spoken to by younger people he assumed were civilian helpers. The new residents looked tired and worried, but most managed a slight smile as the prince walked past, and Juimei stopped and spoke to several briefly, even though he himself was just as weary, and easily as in need of help as any of them.
He might have expected chaos, but things seemed under control. The servants who came to meet them, were cheerful, though obviously tired, and very glad to see their master back with them.
“Neime is staying overnight with a patient at the infirmary, so the tezrei has kindly offered to assist me for the night,” Juimei told a manservant who came up to assist. “Gimoz, do you think the tezrei’s uniform could be cleaned up a bit by tomorrow? His stuff’s all buried under the barracks.”
“Of course, your highness. You put it out, sir, and we’ll have it all lovely and smart for you in the morning.”
“I don’t want you to go to any trouble,” Wepizi protested.
“No trouble, sir, we’ve got other things being cleaned and dried. Got to keep everything orderly, your highness, or it all becomes uncontrollable.”
“Quite right, Gimoz—Tezrei, let him take care of it. He’s our butler—a most efficient and loyal servant.” Gimoz beamed at the praise. “Can you have water and food brought along, Gimoz? Just the same as everyone else.”
“Of course. We’ve lost a few people—no, not like that,” he hastened to add, as Juimei started to exclaim. “Their families came to take them home. Makes things more comfortable, I have to say.”
“Yes, it will, but I do need to know if we can put any more people up. We’ve started to get farmers with injured coming into the town.”
“I’ll get a report to you on that in the morning, your highness. Sir, you put your uniform out for the maid when she comes and I’ll have it back to you by the time you eat your breakfast.”
“Thank you,” Wepizi said, resigned to the fact he was staying in a very well-organised house with its own routines, as immutable as those of the army. Politeness required he did what they asked—and it would be blissful to be in clean clothes and out of this tight, formal uniform.
The prince’s bedroom was on the ground floor, instead of the one above as was usual—but that made sense of course. Juimei waved his hand at the table and chairs stacked in the far corner of the room. “Sorry about the furniture—they needed the space, and with only me and Neime using the room, it seemed fair.”
“No need to apologise. Last night I slept with someone’s backside in my face.”
Juimei laughed. “Ah, I knew there was a reason I hadn’t gone into the army. Please, strip, and use my robe until the water comes—I had the luxury of a wash last night, your need is the greater.”
He needed no further urging, discarding his filthy uniform with relief. He wondered if it could be restored at all. It was almost too disgusting to be worth wearing, at least as a sign of rank. Juimei indicated a plain robe hanging over a stand, and a pair of slippers he could borrow. Wepizi slipped them on, then sat heavily onto a chair, rubbing his temples.
“Tired?” Juimei asked.
“Somewhat. You are, I can tell.”
“Yes, I’m shattered. I don’t know why, since I was sitting most of the day.”
Wepizi shook his head. “You think you were, but actually, you were pretty active, looking around, meeting people—riding—and talking to people. All that talking.”
“Oh yes, the talking. I’ve had more conversations in two days than I’ve had in four years. I have to wonder why I thought it was so hard before. But in this situation, the peculiarities of the governor are the last thing on people’s minds.”
“People adjust to most things pretty quickly, Jui. Perhaps you never gave them a chance.”
The prince’s mouth twitched. “Perhaps I never had the courage before. Seeing what they’re all going through, throws my problems into perspective. I’ve been a dreadful fool.”
“People do what they’re ready to do. Looks to me like you finally finished healing—and in good time too.” He bowed a little. “Forgive me for so personal a remark.”
Juimei dismissed his apology. “It seems a little silly to stand on ceremony when we’re sharing a bedroom.”
“Yes, of course.”
Privately, Wepizi wondered if this man could be entirely trusted not to be cruel, but he liked more and more of what he saw of him, and was prepared to hope his new confidence would return him to the sweeter nature that Neime certainly believed in.
A knock at the door announced food and bathing items in the hands of two maids, one of whom scooped up Wepizi’s uniform and whisked it away to be cleaned. The prince sat down at his little table.
“If you want to bathe first, go ahead—I can eat,” his highness said.
“Thanks, I will—all I can taste and smell is dust.” He didn’t dare blow his nose in here—he was sure it would be revolting.
“Horrible, isn’t it. Do you think I should have made Neime come back? He doesn’t need this on top of the rest of it.”
“Well, you could have forced him—and he’d have been upset, and just as worried. He has to learn for himself how much he can do—and the girl will be grateful, at least.”
“Maybe,” Juimei said sceptically. Wepizi wet a cloth and began to wipe himself down—his neck was disgusting, so was his hair. As he bathed, the prince slowly ate his stew, though without great enthusiasm. “We’ve had reports occasionally of strangers being seen on farms—fruit and vegetables being stolen, animals going missing, that kind of thing. I’d say there’s been a slight increase over the last year, but nothing ever comes of it. There’s nothing to be seen when I’ve had the reports investigated, but I have to wonder if this girl might be connected in some way.”
“Perhaps.” Wepizi had occasionally seen similar reports across the country, and had always put it down to petty thieving and animal predation. But the appearance of the two children did need an explanation.
He caught the prince glancing at him a couple of times as he washed, expression carefully neutral. He recalled Juimei’s lover had been a man, and wondered, as was difficult not to, how he measured up against that unkind creature, and what Juimei thought of Wepizi himself. It was most likely only curiosity behind those discreet glances. Nothing wrong with curiosity, or even admiration—Romi had been kind enough to say he wasn’t bad looking for his age, though Wepizi was aware that he could never be a match for his magnificent friend. Wepizi himself was content to look when opportunities came up, but had no intention of ever doing anything more. That part of his life was over.
He used the dipper to rinse through his hair, and though it was far from perfectly clean, by the time he was done, he was dust-free and felt much more refreshed. “Ah, truly a gift from the benevolent god,” he said with a sigh.
“More like a gift from my benevolent household,” Juimei said dryly.
/>
“Who are also a gift from Sephiz,” Wepizi riposted. “But I thank them—and you—as well. This was a luxury I wasn’t expecting—I feel guilty.”
“Weren’t you lecturing me yesterday about looking after myself? Now, would you mind helping me undress? Neime would normally....”
Wepizi cut off the apology, there being no need. “Of course—am I not your page for the evening?”
“I’d never suffer a page of mine to wear that damn thing,” Juimei muttered, pointing at Wepizi’s moustache. “Still looks tired.”
“I’ll beg a comb from you and tidy it, but first, allow me....”
He imagined that when the prince wasn’t so weary, he could undress himself well enough, but his movements were slow and awkward now, and it simply made it easier for him to have assistance. When he was stripped, it was clear that his small appetite had to be habitual—he was thin, even more so than Wepizi himself, who’d never been able to put any fat on, despite Lema’s fine cooking. He’d expected to see something to explain the limp, the one-sided weakness, but apart from the thinness, Juimei’s body was surprisingly perfect. “Do you need help to wash?”
“No, just nudge that stool over and move the bucket. Thanks—I’m sorry to be so useless, I just get so tired at the end of the day.”
“No need to apologise. We all have our weaknesses.”
“Not in the army, surely.”
“You’d be surprised. That water’s getting cool, do you want...?”
Juimei raised a hand. “Stop. Eat. I’ve had enough assistance. I command it.”
Wepizi made a sardonic bow. “Yes, your highness.”
The stew was delicious, and he was hungry—their lunch had been small, and a long time ago. As he ate, he returned the favour and watched the prince slowly clean himself. Just looking at him, one would never know about his disability, and even that was only pronounced now with his fatigue. And the fatigue, even the dirt, couldn’t hide his aristocratic good looks. The long straight nose and sharp cheekbones, characteristic of the line of Godiw, were softened by firm, sculpted lips and intelligent eyes that could look laughingly kind or cold as frozen ifino, depending on their owner’s mood. He really could do with a little more meat on his bones, though there were still signs of the athlete he had been, and his basic bone structure was sound. He perhaps had been a more muscular man, but never a heavy or a broad one. Perhaps more doig riding, more exercise would help build tone—but they had more than their prince’s physique to worry about for now, and the man would hardly appreciate the suggestion or the attention.
Juimei didn’t linger over his wash, but then he wasn’t as dirty as Wepizi had become. He required a little help to rinse his hair and dry it, and then they were both clean.
“Do you want your robe back?” Wepizi asked after he cleared up the buckets, spills and cloths, and set all safely near the door, where no one would trip over them in the dark. All the time, they had to be ready for another earthquake, another aftershock—they were far from safe, and might have to flee at any moment.
“I have another—in the wardrobe. Unless you want to get dressed again—there are clothes in there which should fit.”
Habit and training made Wepizi get clothes out anyway, ready to pull on if there was an emergency, but there seemed no reason to get dressed if they were going to bed shortly. The way they were both drooping, that would be soon. The tray was left with the buckets, the lamp dimmed, and then Wepizi could finally lie down on Neime’s comfortable bed. He really felt his age tonight, and though he still felt guilty at enjoying something his soldiers would not be, he was too tired to care right now.
“Strange,” the prince murmured. “Normally after a stressful day, I get the most crippling headaches—bad enough to make me want to lie down and weep. But these two days...nothing. Yet, nothing could be more stressful. Why is that, do you think?”
“Perhaps because you’re actively taking charge? It’s more stressful to know of a problem and be unable to do anything about it. It’s much harder being a groi than a tezrei, everyone in the army knows that.”
“Ah—then maybe that’s it. Sadly, most of the things I deal with, I can’t fix. I guess the headaches will return. I was hoping they were miraculously cured.”
“You never know, they might be. Goodnight.”
His creaking body melted into the mattress, and he felt himself dozing within moments. But then he remembered—he hadn’t combed his moustache again. It would look like a wild animal under his nose in the morning. Ah well, beloved, you know I meant to. I’ll look after it in the morning, and you look after it tonight. I know you’ve been watching over me these two days. Watch over our prince too, and young Neime. They deserve it.
In the darkness, he blew a little kiss to his dearest, and that was the last thing he remembered until morning.
Home Ground: 15
It was raining when he woke—their decision to risk allowing people back into the buildings had been vindicated, and so, he ruefully admitted, had Juimei’s suggestion that he had to look after himself as well. By Sephiz, he’d needed that night’s rest—getting soft in his old age, that was what it was. He pulled on the borrowed trousers he’d left on the chair near his bed, and by the time he was decent once more, found the prince stretching and yawning himself awake. “Shall I find our breakfast?”
Juimei scratched his chin, still not completely alert. “Uh...just find someone and ask. Don’t go wandering around, you’ll just be in their way. It’s raining?”
“Yes. Unfortunate, with the funerals.”
“Can’t be helped. How did you sleep?”
“Like his majesty in his palace,” Wepizi said, and his companion smiled. “You?”
“Soundly—but I’m worried about Neime now. Girl or no girl, I’m ordering him out of that infirmary this morning, if I have to use soldiers to do it.”
“Let’s see if persuasion works first. Let me get the food.”
Early though it was, there were people about, and a manservant came to him almost as soon as he opened the bedroom door—he suspected he’d been hovering, waiting for his master’s call.
“Breakfast for the two of us, if you don’t mind?” Wepizi asked politely. “Ah, and the earth closet too.”
One basic need attended to, he found a little washroom near by, and threw water over his face. It was all so normal here inside this grand house—no hint of the damage and misery evidenced just a few dozen yards from where he was right now. Like any soldier, he used the unexpected bounty to prepare himself for hardship, because who knew what the day would bring or where he would sleep that night. At the very least, it was good to smell air that didn’t reek of dust and destruction—the rain would have made things better in that way, he hoped.
Some of their other residents were up looking for food too, and thinking it was best to get out of the way, he hurried back to the bedroom. The prince was getting dressed, this time needing no assistance. He reached over to a dresser and removed a comb, which he handed to Wepizi.
“Please—tame that beast before it attacks someone.”
Wepizi grinned, and made use of comb and mirror. “Hmmm, perhaps it needs a trim.”
“Perhaps Sephiz will grant us all mercy and your scissors will slip. It’s big enough to give small children nightmares.”
“Nonsense. Children love it. In the settlements, they all want to play with it and tug on it.”
“Hah—so even they think it’s some kind of pet.”
Wepizi raised an eyebrow at his impertinent host as he returned the comb. “You sound as if you’re jealous of it. My poor moustache does no one any harm, your highness.”
“Just don’t turn too quickly, tezrei, or you’ll have someone’s eye out with it.” But the prince was grinning, and Wepizi could take no offence at the teasing. It reminded him of Romi, in a way, and being reminded of his dear friend was never an unpleasant thing. Seeing the prince smile with such genuine humour was also not unpleasant—his
face was more suited for smiles than scowls.
Juimei was impatient to get back to the square and to check on Neime, and Wepizi saw no reason to dally. His uniform was delivered with their breakfast—and Juimei laughed at his reaction.
“They’re very good staff,” he said, chuckling.
Wepizi could only stare at his immaculately cleaned—and mended—uniform and sash. Even the efforts of his batman in Tsikiugui, who’d been an absolute fanatic about such things, would have looked slack compared to this.
He fingered the silk of his sash, which he thought was ruined beyond repair—and which now was as perfect as the first time he’d worn it. “How can I persuade them to work for me?”
“You can’t,” Juimei said smugly. “The Count left them to me, so they’re mine, and I won’t be letting them go anytime soon. They’re national treasures.”
“Yes, indeed. Please tell them I am very grateful. Today of all days, I need to look respectable.”
The hilarity in the prince’s eyes died. “Ah...yes, of course. Damn—they’ll expect a speech.”
“Yes—just speak from the heart, as you did yesterday at the infirmary. That’s all they’ll want. Honesty, respect, and understanding of the loss. Let me get dressed—I won’t be long.”
The residence produced cloaks to keep them dry, though the rain was now just drizzle—enough to make people cold and miserable, not enough to make things hazardous or severely impede their progress. He just hoped the graves weren’t full of water.
Once again, Juimei mounted a doig for the short trip to the square—Wepizi noted that he had good control at least over the right side of his body, and kept an excellent seat despite his injury. Clearly his riding skills were unaffected, even if his muscles were not as strong as they once had been. He thought the secret to him being able to dismount more easily might be a modified saddle, and resolved to investigate just as soon as they had put this crisis behind them. He looked forward to the time when helping Juimei to ride without help was the biggest problem they had to face. But for now, they had work to do.
Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4) Page 39