Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4)

by Ann Somerville

  It was only when they moved on, and Wepizi himself claimed his attention, that the prince grew cold and irritated once more. But Wepizi couldn’t think what he could have done to have upset his highness. It was baffling.

  They visited the barracks, saw how even in such a short time, structures were going up. Out past the collapsed wall, progress was slower, but this would be the main location of accommodation once completed, and so it was where the bulk of the manpower and the skills were focussed. Soldiers had died here—but people had died all over the town, so this land could not be preserved as a memorial anymore than the rest of it. All Wepizi and the rest of them could do was make those deaths not have been in vain—to complete the construction, and made even stronger. On that point, the prince had been as determined as Wepizi that standards would be maintained this time. They spent a little time speaking to the chief engineer, but didn’t linger, not wanting to slow the work down, the prince only wanting to assure himself that all arrangements were in hand.

  “I want to visit the camp,” Juimei announced peremptorily.

  “Of course,” Wepizi said.

  There was no need to give directions. The clump of tents was easily visible from the building site, and it took mere minutes to ride into the temporary settlement. The place was busy, since many of the activities that went on in the town, had to go on here. Smoke drifted across the tents from cooking fires, women and older children hauled water buckets, and carts delivered supplies in a constant stream.

  The camp population was mainly women and small children, though there was the occasional older man who was too unfit or unskilled to help with the reconstruction, or in charge of the family while his wife worked in the town. There was a small detachment of soldiers here, though most were occupied elsewhere. Their job was to secure supplies of food, keep order, and facilitate communications with the town—everything else, including schooling, medical care and keeping up morale, had to be left to the civilians.

  As Wepizi and Juimei were spotted, word spread rapidly, and hundreds of people quickly surrounded them, all coming to greet and cheer their governor. The children were excited—perhaps enjoying the break in the routine—but even their parents looked as if this visit was welcome. Juimei looked utterly taken aback by the reception—Jozin clearly would have liked to have escaped all the attention. But then Juimei raised his hand for silence, and somewhat to Wepizi’s surprise, the crowd fell quickly quiet.

  “Thank you, everyone. I’m just making this a short, informal visit so I can see the conditions here, and hear any concerns. I want you to know we’re working as fast as we can to get you under proper roofs and to rebuild. I’m sorry it’ll take some time to complete the work, but you have my oath on it, as a son of the line of Godiw, that we will rebuild, we will rise up, and Dizeindo will be as good and better than before. I pledge my strength and my energy and, if necessary, my fortune to that task.”

  A wave of cheers and applause greeted that, and Juimei flushed, smiling, looking almost embarrassed. It would have been charming to see, if Wepizi hadn’t still been smarting from his earlier cold remarks. He had to admit the prince was becoming very good at this leadership business—it was only friendship which seemed to elude him.

  Juimei waved at one of the soldiers who had come to monitor the crowd, indicating he wanted assistance to dismount. Wepizi didn’t bother offering, knowing he’d be brushed aside. On the ground, an escort of soldiers moved in to protect him, but he told them to stay back.

  As he did, a young voice cried, “Jui! You came to visit?”

  Jui? Who dared call him that here?

  But the answer was quick in showing itself, as a child pushed her way to the front of the crowd, and then ran up to the prince. Wepizi thought she might embrace him, but she only stopped a foot or so short, and then put her hands behind her back politely. “You came to see us?”

  He actually smiled. “Why, yes, Lasila, I did. Where’s Wizip?”

  “Back in the tent, he’s tired.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame. Is your mother here?”

  “Yes, your highness. Please excuse her poor manners,” the woman said, also pushing her way to the front.

  She seemed just another young, ordinary mother, and Wepizi wondered how and when the two of them had come to Juimei’s notice, and why he was so relaxed with them.

  The prince had bent low to listen to something Lasila said to him.

  “I don’t understand,” Jozin whispered to Wepizi. “He’s so nice to them, and so nice last night, but this morning he’s been horrible.”

  “I don’t understand it either, son. Best not to think about it. Are you all right being with us?”

  “Yes. So long as you’re here, I guess. How many people are here?”

  “Nearly a thousand, though not all of them are here right now. We’re using nearly every tent we have, except those in the infirmary. Not enough for the soldiers of course.”

  Jozin nodded. Juimei was still speaking to the little girl, who grinned at something he’d said. Surprising she was charmed by him, when children could be so quick to pick up on oddity or insincerity. But then Juimei could be charming, Wepizi had to give him that. Deceptively so. He had no intention of being deceived again.

  The prince insisted on making a tour of the entire camp, which took no little time at his slow pace, and the crowd following his every step. Wepizi had things he needed to attend to in the camp and elsewhere, but protocol demanded he accompany the governor. It was a far from unrewarding experience. Juimei wasn’t just there for morale purposes. Every perceived lack in the arrangements, anything that caught his eye or brought to his attention by one of the women—even some of the children—was keenly examined, rapid questions being shot at Wepizi, the soldiers, anyone who had any authority over the camp. Within minutes, Wepizi had had to second one of the grois to act as secretary, writing down all the prince’s suggestions, and keep a note of his requests and questions. And still they moved on, through the rows of tents, nothing escaping his attention—even the latrines were checked. Sanitation was something that the crowd and the prince were all most eager to discuss.

  That all took two hours—a very long time for the prince to spend in the camp in Wepizi’s estimation. But his highness was still not done. Entering the main circle where lunch rations were cooking over numerous campfires, and children were playing, Juimei stopped.

  “Someone get me a chair, or a box, or a bale of hay—something,” he said. “I’d like to talk to anyone who wants to talk to me.”

  Wepizi hadn’t expected this, and neither had Jozin. A makeshift throne was made from a box, and there, the middle of the field, Juimei held court, with the groi and two young soldiers his attendants. Soldiers made sure that the prince wasn’t swamped, but other than that, the only control was that exercised by the families and Juimei himself. It forced Wepizi to reassess the man yet again, just as he had thought the prince had reverted to type with his cold manners. He watched him talk to children, listen to mothers anxious about food supplies, livelihoods, the cost of rebuilding. No trouble, no matter how small, went unnoted, and no one was sent away without a chance to speak to their governor.

  It took hours and hours, but though Wepizi knew what a strain it was for the prince to talk for so long and to so many people, Juimei’s courtesy never wavered, his patience never faltered. Even though Wepizi was called away several times, when he returned, he always found the prince hard at work, listening intently to the woes, complaints and suggestions of his newest visitor.

  Finally, close to noon, Wepizi discreetly sent a message through his soldiers to discourage any more supplicants, and the flow of people seeking the prince’s attention dried up. Only then did the prince stand, clearly exhausted, and ask for his mug of water to be refilled. Sipping the drink, he coughed, then looked at Jozin.

  “Ah...I didn’t really mean to force you to wait here all this time.”

  “S’all right,” the lad muttered. He’d sat on t
he grass near Juimei’s chair most of the time, a silent and largely ignored presence. “There’s so many things they all want.”

  “They’ve lost so much. And...perhaps listening to them was long overdue, don’t you think, tezrei?”

  Was he being baited? “I think this region is well governed, your highness,” Wepizi said neutrally. “It was before, it is now.”

  A spark of pleasure lit the prince’s eyes, but then was extinguished, puzzling Wepizi even more. “Yes, well...anyway, we’re done, and we should get back, eat, and see what’s happened in the town. Perhaps you would like to see your friend again, Jozin?”

  “She’s asleep.” They looked at him in surprise, and Jozin tapped his head. “Nuveize lets me talk to Iome all the time. I know what’s going on, and I can see Laovei. She’s asleep.”

  “Ah. How extremely useful,” Juimei said. “Then you should do as you wish. Tezrei, please?”

  Wepizi went to help him up in the doig-cart, but he suddenly found that his support was unnecessary—Juimei rose unassisted through the air, and was then placed carefully in the driving seat. Apart from the smallest shocked gasp, the prince concealed his surprise until he was set down. Jozin climbed up in a more normal fashion, and stared straight ahead, as if expecting a reprimand.

  “Thank you,” Juimei said politely. “An...interesting experience.”

  Jozin’s expression was still rather sullen, but a slight, dry amusement lurked behind it. “You get used to it.”

  “I’m sure,” Juimei said, still politely. “Tezrei? Let’s go.”

  Home Ground: 19

  Juimei drove back from the camp up the main street of the town, but had little inclination to talk to his companions. He felt completely wrung out, and he wondered if the others could sense the despair he felt. How could he do all that was needed? So many hopes rested in him, an inadequate, broken vessel. He’d listened to the simple, heartbreaking pleas, the worries of ordinary people, ordinary families, and he’d tried so hard to sound calm, reassuring, strong and decisive. But inside, he felt such a coward, desperate to run away, close his ears, find someone to take the responsibility off his oh so unworthy shoulders.

  He couldn’t do what these people wanted, couldn’t make it all bright and shiny and new. Some of them would never go home. Some of them would have to leave, go to Nedriz or even further afield. Some of them would never recover from this. And there was nothing at all he could do to stop that happening.

  He fought to hide his cowardly feelings, the knowledge he was an utter fraud, and pretended he was merely tired, grumpy because of his nature. At least Wepizi knew he was a bad-tempered sod, and Jozin disliked him anyway. They expected nothing better from him, which, in a way, was a relief.

  Wepizi summoned a soldier to take care of his doig and the doig-trap, then helped him down from the vehicle—Jozin didn’t offer his rather disconcerting assistance, but that was certainly because of the soldier’s presence. Neime was in the shop cum headquarters.

  “Why aren’t you in the infirmary?” Juimei asked as he limped in.

  His page gave him a warm smile. “Had to talk to the mayor—I thought it was more private here. I’ll go back shortly.”

  “And the girl?”

  “Which one? Laovei’s asleep, and Iome’s helping in the infirmary. She wanted to,” Neime added hastily, seeing Jozin’s expression. “Sephiz knows we could use her. I’ll keep an eye on her, Juimei.”

  “Well, see that you do,” Juimei snapped, though it wasn’t Neime he was cross with. His friend straightened at the sharp tone in his voice—Juimei would have to apologise later. “But it’s lunchtime—care to find our food?”

  “Of course. Jozin—would you like to come with me?”

  The lad shrugged. “Sure.”

  He looked at Wepizi as if for reassurance.

  “Go on,” Wepizi said. “I want to have a quick word with his highness. We’ll eat in here.”

  Neime took the boy away, leaving Wepizi alone with Juimei, much to Juimei’s displeasure. He sat down and examined the notes the soldiers had taken while he had been meeting the civilians.

  “Something on your mind, tezrei?” Juimei asked, not looking up, not really wanting to encourage the man.

  “Yes. Have I offended you, your highness...Jui? Please—if I’ve done anything, said something, not said...I don’t wish to offend you.”

  Juimei put on his most bland expression. “If I had something to remark upon, I would do so. Is that your biggest concern?”

  “No, I just...wondered.”

  “Do you have a complaint to make? Some lack in hospitality? Perhaps you might feel happier if you set up a separate centre of command.”

  Wepizi stiffened, his voice, when he spoke, cool and formal. “If that’s your wish, your highness. I’ll see to it after lunch.”

  “Please do. However, you might care to turn your attention to matters not concerning your personal comfort first. I want these things done today.”

  He waited until Wepizi had retrieved paper and pencil, then reeled off his orders, allowing the man to ask for clarification where needed but not offering any unless asked.

  They had just finished when Neime returned with a container of soup, and a cloth sack of bread. Jozin carried bowls, mugs and a jug of water. Wepizi let the two lads arrange the food on the desk, putting his notes in his breast pocket and avoiding Juimei’s eyes, his own not hiding his feelings in the least. Juimei forced himself not to care.

  He had no appetite, and could not even pretend to have an interest in the food. The others ate heartily enough, though Neime gave him a look or two of concern which he ignored. He, however, was curious about Jozin. The lad had something on his mind, and since he wasn’t sharing, and Wepizi wasn’t asking, Juimei finally decided to try.

  “Something bothering you, Jozin? You seem distracted.”

  “Just...thinking.” He looked up at him, then at Wepizi. “You really want to help us? The Blessed?”

  Not what Juimei had been thinking about at all, and he had to quickly shift his thoughts. “If we can, of course. But that would mean we have to know what’s needed, and who needs it. You’ve already said that’s not possible.”

  The boy clutched a piece of bread in his fingers, and began shredding it nervously. “I....”

  “Jozin?” Wepizi asked gently. “We really do want to help.”

  Jozin swallowed. “I...could.... Maybe you and I could....”

  “Go to your home?” Wepizi prompted. Jozin nodded. “When?”

  “Uh, now?”

  Wepizi blinked, Neime stared in astonishment, and Juimei sat back, really taken by surprise. “Jozin, Wepizi has things to do....”

  “Which I can delegate,” Wepizi said quickly, cutting him off.

  But Juimei, annoyed at Wepizi taking this line without consulting him, persisted. “Then you can delegate this—Jozin, we can send lep Tovoi with you.”

  “No,” Jozin said, setting his jaw stubbornly. “Him or you. No one else.”

  “Now, wait a minute—” Juimei started to say, but Wepizi cut him off again.

  “I understand,” he said. “If you could give me an hour, even half an hour—”

  “Wait a minute, tezrei. You can’t just leave your post without permission,” Juimei snapped, secretly alarmed at the idea of Wepizi disappearing to Sephiz knew where, possibly never to return. “Jozin, perhaps we should talk about this. Let me have this evening to—”

  “No, I have to get back—they need me. If you don’t want to do it, then you shouldn’t have said you did.” The boy lowered his head, his ragged red hair hiding his thin face. “Told you,” he muttered, as if he was talking to someone not present.

  Juimei tried again. “Jozin, I just want time to talk—”

  “No. Now. Or never.”

  He turned as if he was about to walk out. Juimei nearly growled in annoyance at this child trying to manipulate all of them in this manner.

  Wepizi put his hand on Jozin
’s shoulder. “Wait, could you...Neime, we’re finished eating. Could you get rid of the plates and things and come back in a few minutes? I need to speak to his highness.”

  “Wait a minute!” Juimei shouted, now more than irritated, but his page was already on his feet, collecting their dishes, mugs, the container and jug.

  “Come on, Jozin. Give them time to think.”

  “Neime!”

  But he was ignored. His page and Jozin scurried out of the shop like their backsides were on fire. Wepizi got up and shut the door, while Juimei glared at the intolerable insubordination, not to mention the downright rudeness of his inferiors.

  “Juimei, I’m sorry, but I have to—”

  “I don’t care what you have to, Tezrei! I’ve just told you that you may not leave this town without my permission! Which part of that order do you not comprehend?”

  “I understand it perfectly, your highness,” Wepizi said in a deceptively mild tone. “However, I have standing orders which antedate and override that. Your honoured father, his majesty, has explicitly ordered all soldiers of any rank to engage with the Blessed and attempt to invite them back into society. We might not get another chance. I have to go because Jozin will change his mind if I don’t. It might already be too late.”

  “That’s ridiculous, and you know it. You’re needed here. Will you abandon three thousand people, your post, your governor, to run off on this chase, when you have absolutely no idea if Jozin can be trusted? He could be leading you to your death? We need you, damn it!”