Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4)

by Ann Somerville

  “You received my submission?” he said finally.

  The prince shook himself. “Yes. And Tovoi’s. They went off yesterday, with my own. Jozin wanted to make one too, so that was sent as well.”

  So it was done. “Was there something else, your highness?”

  “No. Only to thank you for your assistance today. It was not something you were obliged to give.”

  “No, that was made very clear. I don’t only do what I’m obliged to.”

  “No. Nor I.” Juimei stared at his feet. “I...really wasn’t forced into this by Jozin. We can’t let him get that notion into his head.”

  “No, I know. I’ll reinforce the message if I get the chance.”

  The prince looked up. “I explained to him this situation was not trivial, and that until it’s resolved one way or another, you can’t be involved in managing him and the others.”

  “I understand. I’ll explain it, again if I get the chance.”

  “Yes. Tovoi has you directing the building site.”

  Nothing could be read of his feelings on that point from his voice or his expression. Wepizi shrugged. “I have to do something, your highness. Prisoners are put to work, you know that.”

  “Not usually in a position of authority,” Juimei said rather coldly. “You shouldn’t take it as a sign that your case won’t be dealt with in the normal way.”

  “I’m not taking it any way at all, your highness. I’m just doing what I’ve been told to do, as any prisoner would. If you object, you need to speak to the tezrei, not me.”

  “Quite. I shall certainly want to be kept informed of your activities.”

  Wepizi nearly rolled his eyes—did the man think he would make a break for it? Yet Juimei’s tone, in fact his whole demeanour, didn’t have the nastiness Wepizi expected. He just seemed tired and depressed, and not at all like someone who had handled a tricky situation with the Blessed rather well. He looked somewhat ill, actually, and Wepizi wondered if he was in for another migraine.

  “Was there anything else, your highness?”

  “Yes.” The prince looked at him. “You just think I’m being malicious, don’t you? You assume I’m doing this to you out of spite.”

  Wepizi was taken aback by this direct and personal comment. He wouldn’t have thought Juimei would have cared in the least what Wepizi thought. “I don’t know why you’re doing it, your highness. I’ve stopped trying to work out your motives for anything.”

  Juimei stiffened as if he’d been struck. “I see. I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me. But if you think I want this, you’re wrong. Very wrong.”

  “Then why?”

  “Andon is governed by the rule of law,” he said, jabbing the ground with his cane for emphasis. “If I was truly capricious, I would follow my heart and not my head, and forget all this because it’s so far from my wishes, you can’t imagine. But the law is the law, and the governor must apply it.”

  “I followed the law, your highness.”

  “No, you did not. Would you have been so ready to disregard my authority, if you liked me better? Think on that, Wepizi, and then decide who’s the capricious one. Good day.”

  He turned to go. Stung by his words, Wepizi grabbed his arm. “Wait! You think I did that because I dislike you?”

  “I’ve stopped trying to work out your motives for anything,” the prince said, looking down at his impertinent grip.

  “Well, that wasn’t my motive. You could have handled it differently, kept it private. You didn’t need to make this an official matter at all.”

  Juimei narrowed his eyes, and shook off Wepizi’s hand. “You involved Neime and Tovoi. You made it public, and you took the choice to deal with it differently away from me. That is what I can’t forgive. Blame me how you will, but you’re not without fault. By no means are you without fault. Now, good day.”

  The prince limped slowly off. Wepizi could only stare after him, perplexed. Had he really forced the man’s hand? Would Juimei have really dealt with things differently, if things had been done differently? Wepizi had thought he’d had no choice that day. Was that really so?

  Lema, have I been a fool again? Thrown away a career and my reputation for something that could have been avoided?

  If he had, it was too late. Too late for anything but regrets, that was.

  Home Ground: 24

  The Blessed were the topic of every conversation for a day or so—then the realities of life pressed in again, and people had to get on with the repair of their town and their livelihoods. Quietly, and far more judiciously than Kilinze had managed, the Blessed became part of that restoration. Equally quietly, Wepizi became their de facto liaison and manager, though he wasn’t the only person responsible for keeping the Blessed protected and under control. Jozin was seconded into the army at his own request, given the rank of groi Specialist Class, and quickly accepted Tovoi’s authority. The defined rank structure and discipline was good for him, and the lad responded gratifyingly to firm, kind direction. Just as Nuveize had said, he was only too glad to shed responsibility from too young shoulders, and let other people make decisions for him.

  He was set to work immediately, and his assistance and that of all the Blessed, made a difference from the start. Suddenly, things moved much faster. Raising the town walls again took two weeks, instead of the expected two months, and while the walls were largely symbolic during times of peace, there was no doubt their presence and solidity gave comfort to the population, and a sense of security to those who’d lost their homes. It wasn’t just the walls that went up more speedily—houses, barracks, and shops all rose from the rubble at a fantastic rate. They could work longer days, thanks to Kilinze’s fireballs illuminating their worksites, and Jozin and Helinoa’s talent taking the strain of the harder, heavier work. When it rained, Iome dried the site off quickly with her clever winds, and Laovei simply scooped out water from holes and ditches and sent it flying off over the farmland. The remaining damage to the lock was repaired in a single day, Laovei holding the river back in a manner which at first terrified the soldiers sent to mend it, but which was then quickly taken for granted as they and Helinoa got rid of the rubble, checked the mechanism, and tested it. Boats began to use it within two days of its reopening.

  Every one of the Blessed threw their efforts into helping the reconstruction. Nuveize alone saved them so much time by making it unnecessary to send runners back and forth from site to site, or one end of the town to the other. One short flight with her and Helinoa allowed the army to quickly survey a thousand square miles of region, make contact with the remote patrols and tell them what was happening, finding out who needed help and what damage had been done. It saved them months of travel, and many hours of soldiers’ labour.

  The rapid progress, and the real improvement to living conditions, gave a huge boost to morale, and smiles came back into fashion among civilians and soldiers alike. But it wasn’t just the ordinary citizens who benefited. The Blessed were finding their feet, and their lives were now much richer and more secure than before. Kilinze was taken under Jiren Heininke’s wing—the man had a son Kilinze’s age, and between the two of them, they managed to exercise a good bit of influence and control over the volatile boy. School definitely looked possible.

  Helinoa made friends with one of the teachers, and was now at her books in earnest. Juimei had sent orders down that the three youngest Blessed were to be given enough time to rest and study. The prince, same as Wepizi, was concerned about exploitation—so far, that had been averted. Iome was serious about becoming a healer, and now worked every day at the infirmary, and spent the evenings studying. The army medics reported she had a natural gift for the role, and was well liked by patients and staff.

  Giwade continued to be reticent about normal company, spending a lot of time with the still recovering Laovei, or with Neime. It seemed unlikely he would ever attend school, but he still benefited from the end of the Blessed's isolation. Wepizi had many reasons to be cont
ent he’d been part of that, even if he had no idea if he would be around in a year’s time, or ever know if Giwade had successfully attended school or if Kilinze had managed to fit in. He could only hope he would be, and give his new friends the best possible start if he was not.

  Spring became summer, and the town began to rise again. Two whole blocks of the new barracks were complete, along with decent sanitation and cooking facilities, and all the people housed in store rooms and the like, now had a proper place to sleep. Another block would be complete within a week or so. More than that, the infrastructure of the town had almost been entirely restored. The bridge was repaired much earlier than expected, and Jozin had helped set up a second ferry. Boats now travelled back and forth to Nedriz, and more troops were expected soon from Tsikiugui which would speed the completion of the building tasks. The town owed much to the Blessed, and Wepizi made sure people realised it.

  He was kept very busy both with his actual job, and with the Blessed, liaising with Neime and Tovoi daily over the matter. But never the prince. His highness was a recluse once more. It distressed Neime a great deal, the lad confessed.

  “I don’t know what to do,” he said one afternoon, as he shared a cup of drizu with Wepizi around the soldiers’ fire, before heading back to the residence. “It’s almost like when he was first injured. He’s in constant pain, he won’t talk to me, won’t let me help—he can’t go on like this.”

  “No, he can’t. Pity he has no other friends.”

  “He nearly did,” Neime said sorrowfully. “I really thought...why did he have to make an issue of it, Wepizi?”

  “He had his reasons,” Wepizi said. “Good ones, I confess. But it’s too late for any of it now.”

  Neime gave him an odd look, then changed the subject. Wepizi wondered what that had been about, but Neime was close-mouthed as a statue when he wanted to be.

  He’d given a lot of thought to that last conversation with Juimei, and had come to the uncomfortable realisation that maybe, just maybe, he’d been a bit of an arse. At the same time, there was nothing he could do about it until the decision came from his majesty. It was too late for apologies, or even explanations. Soon, the matter would be out of both their hands, and Wepizi could only place his trust in Sephiz he would not be cast adrift.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Juimei limped over to the bell pull and tugged on it with unnecessary force, needing to express his frustration somehow. Some days were better than others, and this was definitely a nerf leaf tea day. He hated the stuff, but he hated losing entire days to migraines and headaches even more, and he was already sick to his stomach and in pain. So much so that Neime had hovered anxiously, saying he should not leave today—Juimei had made him go away and get on with his job. If he couldn’t represent himself in the town, he needed Neime to do that for him. It wasn’t fair if Dizeindo had neither of their services.

  He went back to his desk and began to open the freshly delivered post. A mountain of the stuff, only to be expected since post riders had been forced to reduce the number of runs over the last three months. It would improve in the spring, and was already better than they’d hoped. At least they were no longer cut off—they were in regular contact with Nedriz and Tsikiugui, and it was only Visiqe with whom they had less frequent exchange than usual. One day, he thought, there would be some kind of communication across the whole country which would not mean months between letters from one side to the other. A network of the Blessed like they had in Darshian, would be the thing. But that would mean more Blessed would have to emerge. It might happen, but perhaps not in his lifetime. Certainly not during the little time remaining of his residence here.

  As was his habit, he sifted letters into piles according to urgency, and whether he needed to consult with someone before dealing with them. His headache made it hard to concentrate—perhaps he should wait until he’d had the tea, and then see if he could make more sense of it. He disliked the soporific qualities of nerf leaf, but it was the only mild analgesic he could use which didn’t knock him out, and it had the side effect of flattening his mood. The days on which he took it tended to pass in a haze—he suspected those around him were rather grateful for that.

  He found it hard to care. He’d arranged things so he was almost unnecessary, and if he pitched it right, his replacement would slip in unnoticed. At least, they could if they wanted to. He didn’t know if they would, or who they would be. Sooner or later he would have to talk to Neime about this, but he was dreading that conversation. He’d decided to wait until it was all settled and had his father’s seal of approval—that would cut down the arguing, at least.

  He was about to set the letters aside, when the last one opened caught his eye. Frowning, he reread it, thinking he’d been mistaken, but he had not. Sifting through the other letters, he found something had gone seriously awry. What on earth?

  A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts. He barked at whoever it was to enter.

  It was his butler, smiling and helpful-looking as ever. “Your highness?”

  He forced his face into a pleasant expression, because his staff were good people and didn’t deserve his moods. “Gimoz, thank you. Would you have someone fetch Neime back for me, and get me some nerf leaf tea? Neime’s more urgent.”

  The man bowed. “Certainly, your highness.”

  He withdrew. Juimei returned to his correspondence, and went through all his letters this time. No, he really hadn’t made a mistake. How could this have happened?

  The tea arrived, and he made sure he drank all of it, though it was quite disgusting, more than enough to deter any tendency he might have towards addiction. But it only took the edge off his headache and his temper, so when Neime finally appeared, he was perfectly ready for a fight.

  “Sit down, Neime.”

  “What’s wrong, Jui?” Neime asked, as he sat down. “Has something happened?”

  “Not exactly,” he said coolly. “The post arrived this morning.”

  “Oh good. Or was there...bad news?”

  “Not really, though I’m disappointed not to have a reply to my letter to my father concerning Wepizi.”

  “Has he not replied? That’s odd.”

  Juimei gave him a sharp look. Neime was just a little too innocent. “Yes, it really is, since I’ve got replies to other letters dispatched at exactly the same time. Some of those replies actually asked what’s happened to Wepizi, and why Tovoi is now tezrei. Most curious, don’t you think?” Neime bit his lip and stared down at the desk. “Neime? I know I gave you that wallet of documents to send. I sealed them myself. Unlikely that they would have become mislaid, when others in the same pouch were not. Do you have an explanation for this?”

  His page glanced up with wounded, guilty eyes, and Juimei’s heart sank. What have you done, lad?

  Neime got up and went to a little-used inlaid wooden cabinet, one that was low and awkward and only held archived documents from Count Fiezenai’s time. Juimei had never looked inside it. Now Neime opened it and drew something out, which he brought over and laid in front of Juimei. The report on Wepizi—the entire wallet, still sealed. “Why?” Juimei whispered. “Why betray me so?”

  Neime sat down and clenched his hands on his knees. “I’ll resign and accept any punishment, your highness.”

  “Just tell me why. To protect him?”

  Neime shook his head and looked up, seeming on the verge of tears. “No. To protect you. I was afraid it would make you look like a fool and give that bloody count another chance to attack you. It was too high a price to pay for revenge.”

  “It wasn’t revenge. It was nothing to do with revenge. It was to do with my authority, this office, and who rules and who doesn’t. Even if...even if I loved...someone...and they did that, I would do the same. Even if it had been you. You betrayed me.”

  Neime’s eyes were stricken. “No! I...Juimei I...wanted to stop you making a mistake. And it was a mistake. You know it was.”

  Juimei wanted to vomi
t, the taste of betrayal was so strong. His guts knotted into a familiar, agonising ball, and it was all he could do not to walk out, away from this mess. He’d trusted Neime implicitly, and that trust had been shattered. He didn’t care what Neime’s justification was—he had broken faith with Juimei. How could Neime have set himself above the office of the governor in this way?

  He broke the seal on the wallet, and found all just as he’d left it, months before. He drew out one envelope. “It was this, actually, on which I was most desperate for a reply.” He handed it over to his page, who only held it, still looking as he was waiting for judgement. “Open it,” he snapped.

  Neime jumped, then broke the seal and pulled the letter out. His eyes grew huge as he read, then he looked up, mouth open in shock. “Oh, Jui...no. No, you can’t.”

  “I can, and after this, I really mean to. You’ve left me no option.”

  “What are you going to do about me? Were you just going to walk out and leave me here?”

  “No. Not at all. But now...I’m disappointed. Hurt, and most disappointed. You’ve proved more than anything else, how imperative it is that I go.”

  “I never meant to. I was trying to protect you. I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry.”

  The lad hung his head. Juimei didn’t know if it was the effect of the tea, or pure weariness and despair, but he couldn’t really work up a good rage about this. He just felt...sad. Hopeless. And simply not knowing what to do, now this last hope had been removed. “You better go now.”

  “Go? Away?”

  “No, back to work. I need to think. We’ll speak of this again. We’ll have to.”

  “I know,” Neime said, voice small and apologetic. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “I know that. Go on. Say nothing to anyone—your word of honour, Neime.”

  He bowed. “On my mother’s life. I’m sorry.”

  Juimei merely nodded, not trusting his voice, and avoided looking at his page until he’d left the room. Only then did he put his head in his hands, his eyes filling a little in self-pity. He’d thought he was so close to liberation, and the kindly meant betrayal by his dearest—only—friend, had now entrapped him firmly in hell.