by Patty Jansen
“But . . . bring back Milleus? Are you serious? He’s an old man.”
“He is decisive. He has steered us through the Aranian war.” And he will steer us through a southern war, if one happens.
Sady saw his brother at the head of the victory procession through the streets of Tiverius. How had the people cheered him. Arania had attacked, but they had been well and truly defeated.
“Times are different now,” Shara said.
“Not as different as you’d think.”
“Have you asked Milleus if he even wants to come back?”
“I know my brother. He’ll say no, but if we present him with a majority vote in the doga, he will.” Or at least he had better. Sady set his glass down and leaned back in his chair.
“Chevakia will need his experience. Whatever happens with the weather, we’re facing a crisis, because we’ve already delayed putting in some crops too long. There will be shortages. The current senators know nothing about how to run the country in a crisis, especially one generated by a country we know so little about. Remember the fear the Eagle Knights struck into the hearts of the border regions? Remember all the young girls who were lost? Milleus was a senator then.”
Shara sipped, and gave a little shudder. Most of the girls would have died from sonorics sickness soon after arriving in the City of Glass if they hadn’t died at the hands of raping barbarians before that. And then some sick mind had gone to write a report about it, as if taking the girls to the City of Glass was an experiment.
“That was all before my time,” Shara said.
“It’s before almost everybody’s time, including mine.” Milleus was fifteen years his senior. “We need the experience.”
For a while, he stared into the leaping flames.
Shara continued, “Sure, not everybody is happy with Destran’s achievements. With the right campaign, I think someone else could have the numbers to topple him.”
Sady nodded. “Destran’s support is not as strong as it was when . . .”
Another uncomfortable memory. Shouting in the benches of the amphitheatre in the doga assembly hall. Senators fighting like street urchins. And his brother standing silent and defeated at the dais. Moments later, he had thrown off his cloak, and walked out, never to return. When Sady came to the Proctor’s house later that day, his brother had already been packing.
I know when I’m not wanted and this is it, Sady. A man can only take so much. I’ve worked my entire damn life for this. I’ve. . . .
The slam of a lid on a box had been accompanied by the shattering of porcelain.
Milleus stared at shards of pottery on the floor. Suri loved that vase.
Suri. Ever since her death, Milleus had not been the same. Yet, he had never noticed how lonely she was. Poor Suri. For years, Sady had watched her become unhappy, knowing that she might have been better off with him than with his brother.
He should have done something. He should have told her how much he loved her.
Tears stung in his eyes.
“So what do you suggest?” Shara’s voice shattered painful memories.
Sady made a decision. “I’m travelling to Ensar in the morning.”
“What? I thought you were still trying to get funding that approved?”
“I’ve found some alternative money.” He thought of Lady Armaine’s bank draft which was on the corner of his desk. “I’ll travel through some towns on the way. I think I can garner support for Milleus in the south of the country.”
She nodded. “That is reasonable. Dangerous, though. Destran will know that you’re doing it. It only takes him a short time to find out where you’ve gone.”
“It’s the only thing I can do. He’s going in for the battle. He knows he’s flailing and he something is up. Right now, he’s probably at a meeting of his supporters.”
“Probably,” she agreed.
“So, let’s go to business. What are the feelings amongst your northern colleagues?”
“Without calling a meeting, I would guess that Destran probably still has the numbers amongst them, but people are smarting because the northern irrigation project has been delayed for so long. If . . . someone came in and promised some set dates on it . . .”
Typical regional politicking. There wasn’t enough water for all districts to get as much as they thought they needed. Yet, he couldn’t say the obvious truth; he needed the North’s support. Never mind that it would come to haunt him, because this was going to be a bad year for the north.
“I’m sure Milleus would hear your concerns.” Or he had better.
“We don’t want an audience; we want a decision about projects we’ve applied for. My constituents are sick of coming off second-best.”
“There is a more immediate threat to Chevakia.”
“Only to the south, don’t forget that. The northern regions are sick of propping up the south. The people haven’t forgotten that when we had the great sand storms, which were a threat to the north, we had to beg for assistance and even then it was slow in coming.”
“That was Destran’s doing. You might point that out to your faction.”
She nodded, slowly, but still didn’t look entirely convinced.
“Sady, I still wish you would put forward a different candidate. You might as well know. Milleus was not well-loved amongst my regional colleagues. He was a selfish, discriminatory pig, and what happened in his personal life was plain unacceptable to many of us.”
“What happened in his personal life is none of the doga’s business.”
Shara fixed his gaze, her mouth twitching. “It was unacceptable nevertheless.”
“So you would vote against?”
She shook her head, slowly. “I don’t think we have an option. Our faction doesn’t have a candidate with enough support across all regions. No faction does. If you would only stand—”
“No.”
“But we would demand some sort of apology from him—at least the female delegates.”
Sady nodded. Suri. He’d hate to broach that painful subject with Milleus, but it had to be done. There were just too many rumours about what had happened. Not even he knew the full extent of the story except that Suri had killed herself—there was no doubt about that—but no one knew why.
She went on, “Out of the two—Destran or Milleus—Milleus would have more clout. Yes, he has the experience, and I’m sure you’d get a much higher support for him if he has clear plans. If you’re asking for Intention to Vote, then I would give it, providing he clears up the air on his personal business.”
“I am asking.” And there was no time for committees to be looking into Milleus’ private life. It still would have to be addressed after the crisis.
She went to the desk in the corner, pulled out paper and a pen. For a while, the only sound in the room was the popping of the fire and the scratching of the pen on the paper. Then she passed him the note. Intention to Vote.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” He folded it in his pocket.
Not much later, he was on his way home, but having visited the leaders of all regional factions. In his pocket, he held the Intentions of five of the factions, about fifty votes in all.
The house was dark when he came home, and he spent some time rustling about with pots until Lana stuck her head around the door.
“Sady, what in the heavens’ name are you doing?”
“Cooking. I’m hungry.”
She sighed. “Sady, Sady, didn’t I ever tell you that you can always wake me up? That’s what I’m here for.”
“But . . .” he started to protest, and then she smiled at him, and the tension faded.
“Sit down.”
; She went into the cold cellar and retrieved some soup, which she heated up with a fat slice of bread.
“Now tell me, how come your work is more important than having a proper dinner?”
“I’m travelling to Ensar in the morning.”
She sucked in a breath of air. “I thought there was no money.”
“I . . . found some.”
He wished she wouldn’t look at him like that. Questioning, one eyebrow raised.
“It’s all right. It’s political money. I’m going to see Milleus.”
Mercy, Milleus had better be worth the trouble. He did not like lying to Lana.
“You’re not going to ask him to return?” Her eyes were wide.
“Well, actually . . . I am.”
“I never thought I’d see the day. That is good news.” Her eyes twinkled. She had never made a secret of her fondness for Milleus.
The vote would be tight, and he hadn’t been able to sway everyone he’d hoped to convince, but Sady was sure that if he could get Milleus to come out of retirement and back in the capital, more people would follow. People had not forgotten how his quick decisions had won the war against Arania, and how well he had taken up the command of the Chevakian army, how he had used Chevakia’s balloons not just to repel the Aranian invasion, but to follow the fleeing army home and take their capital. In the doga building hung a banner with the crest of the Aranian king, taken from the palace by the victorious soldiers. Tables had turned. The attacker had become the attacked. Thanks to Milleus, the people of Chevakia slept well at night.
They would not have forgotten.
Thanks to Milleus, they would again sleep well. As for Sady, he never slept too well, and the next day, he was up annoying the household staff before dawn, packing his travel bags and his instruments, leaving Viki to mind his office in Tiverius, all fingers and toes crossed that the next few days would be boring and routine on the meteorology front and that whatever bugged Viki about Alius wouldn’t come to a head.
Chapter 7
* * *
THE ENGINE PUFFED and chugged and thumped. Goats bleated, jostled each other and nosed around in the feed trough.
Hoses vibrated. The pipe spewed sloshes of milk into the vat. First a gush, then a steady stream, which slowed to a mere trickle.
There. The next lot done.
Milleus pulled the release. A hiss of steam escaped the vent on top of the compressor. Suction pads disengaged from udders and flung back to their positions under the arm of the milking machine. As one, the goats lifted their heads from the feeding trough and bolted for the gate of the milking pen.
“Mercy! Be calm, the lot of you. Just what is wrong?” Milleus straightened, squinting against the glare of sunlight, and the shimmering air. He scanned the edge of the wood up the hill, across the golden field of grain.
Only a few days ago one of his prize kids had disappeared, a female, too, born from one of his best milkers, which would have fetched a nice price at market. Milleus had taken his carbine, and scoured the woods, but had found no trace of it, not even a half-eaten carcass. The goats had been nervous ever since.
A shadow fell over him. Huge, dark, blotting out the sunlight. Just a heartbeat, and then it moved uphill, over the golden grain field.
Mercy!
A bird, no, a bird circled above him, a stark silhouette against the blue sky, with powerful wings of such size as Milleus had never seen. As fast as his old bones allowed, Milleus scrambled to the gate, pushing through the mass of jostling goats.
Over the gate, into the hot darkness of the shed, past the flickering lights of the milking machine. Up there, on the shelf. His hand closed on metal.
Thank goodness for the gun.
Hands trembling, he found the magazine of bullets and clipped it into the holder. Outside the shed, a mass of goats assailed him, having somehow found their way over, or through, the gate.
The bird soared over the forest, wings perfectly still.
The shadow passed over once more, way out of range of the gun. Milleus tracked the dark shape with the barrel, his heart thudding. The eagle wheeled, gaining height. A few lazy wingbeats and then it was gone over the crest of the hill. Milleus stood there, watching. The eagle didn’t return. The sky was deep blue, without a single cloud.
Well, that was one explanation for the disappearance of goats. Fancy that, a southern eagle. They were native to the mountain range between Arania and the south, but the largest ones, the really large ones, big enough to carry a man, lived only in the Eagle Knights’ eyrie in the City of Glass. Such beasts were said to be not natural, and this was a beast like that. Rider-less.
Someone lifted the latch on the gate.
Milleus whirled, aiming his gun, cursing himself.
At the gate stood an olive-skinned man with salt-and-pepper hair, in a long red robe dusty from travel.
Milleus lowered the gun. “Sady?”
“It’s me all right. Milleus, you old billygoat.” Sady let the gate fall shut and rushed across the milking pen, his arms spread.
Milleus set the gun next to the milking machine.
They met each other amongst the goats. Milleus revelled in his brother’s hug and returned pats on the shoulder. It was so long since he had seen Sady, all the way in Tiverius where he’d sworn never to return.
“What’s with the gun?” Sady asked.
“Tell you the truth, brother, I just got the biggest fright. There was a southern eagle scaring the goats. Did you see it?”
Sady shook his head. “I just came from the station. An old guy gave me a lift to the gate.”
That would have been Andreus, the old nosey always ready for a chat. “Look at you, Sady. Not a day older. What in all the heavens are you doing here? The meteorology stations playing up?”
The laughing crinkles faded from around Sady’s eyes. Grey-flecked brows lowered. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard.”
Haven’t heard what?
“Sonorics levels have risen all along the border stations.”
“How much?” By rights, Milleus should have heard, but he hadn’t, because he hadn’t been into town, because he’d been avoiding talk, and fingerpointing, and gibbering women.
“Much more than usual for this time of the year. We’re sitting at an average of seventeen to eighteen motes per cube.”
“Hang on, Sady. This time of the year sonorics levels usually go down.”
Sady nodded and stared over the field in a moment of reflection. There was more to the story, much more. Something serious was happening.
“Come to the house,” Mileus said.
* * *
Not much later when they sat over tea and biscuits in the kitchen, Sady told his story, about sharply rising sonorics, about the rising measurements from all border stations, about the increased sonorics levels Sady had measured in this region.
“And also, there are rumours of an uprising against the Eagle Knights in the City of Glass.”
“Really? Who told you that? Didn’t think Destran kept any of our southern spies on the doga’s books.”
“No, but that doesn’t mean there are none to be found.”
Milleus eyed him and Sady met his gaze squarely.
“Don’t tell me you’ve asked her.”
Sady expression closed.
“All right, so you have asked her. You know who is she is, right?”
“The old king’s daughter-in-law.”
“Too right. Anything she says will be coloured through a thick layer of revenge.”
“I’m not trusting her.” Sady sounded defensive.
“No, and make sure that you do not, and never, trust her.�
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“It’s just that we have no one else to give us information. At least she won’t feed us southern propaganda. She hates the Eagle Knights’ regime as much as we do.”
“Yes, but that is propaganda, too. We hate the Knights for the border raids, which they may well have recognised as a grave mistake by now. From memory, no one was too friendly with the old royal family either. It’s been a relief to most Chevakians that they haven’t had to tell their children scary stories about magic since he was disposed.”
He met Sady’s eyes squarely. Sady wouldn’t remember any of that fear, but Milleus did. The time of Chevakian ignorance about sonorics, the time before Alius and his barrier.
“Do not trust her, Sady. Do not, under any circumstance, accept any of her favours. Do not believe what she says. Find another informant. It’s not as if there are no southerners at all in Tiverius.”
Sady folded his hands around his tea cup and stared at the table. Milleus read the signs.
“You’ve already gone in too deep with her?”
“I needed the money for this trip. The doga wouldn’t sign for permission.”
“Pay her back immediately.”
Sady gave him a what with? look.
“Mercy, Sady, Destran gets his taxes. The situation can’t be as bad as all that?”
Sady spread his hands. “That’s the way it seems to be.”
“Who of us is going to say ‘I told you so’? Destran is a dithering fool trying to please everyone and pleasing no one in the process.”
Mercy, he was angry. Milleus did not want to hear about Destran. The doga had voted him in. He was their problem. He met Sady’s eyes, more irritated than he should be. He was done with politics.
“Let’s talk about something else, Sady. I’m sick of this subject. How are you?”