by Lee Abrey
“We could get you some wheelchairs,” said Fenric.
“No,” said Azrael, “I’m tired of wheelchairs and bandages. Oh, sorry, Polo, do you want one? I forgot your leg.”
“I’ll be alright,” I said, “the walk’s doing me good. I was stiffening up, sitting in there.” Fenric didn’t believe my assurances.
“Get Polo a wheelchair,” said Fenric to one of the men, who jogged off. “We’ll stop here.” I leaned against the nearest wall.
“Alright,” I said, catching my breath, “so I’m not so good.”
“Dragon wounds take a long time to heal,” said Azrael, leaning near me. “Nanny was saying it was well-known in the old days. I’m glad Kristen didn’t get my legs, I can still walk.” I lit up a pipe and shared it round.
“I’ve been reading that When Dragon Came,” I said, “it’s really interesting.” I was making conversation. “What I don’t understand is what kind of weapons they had.”
“Weapons,” said Fenric, sounding solemn, “that could kill a man at a distance of miles. Then in a split second, kill the man next to him and keep going, so fast, all the while unseen.”
“Unseen?” I said. He nodded.
“Dragon banned them,” he said.
“Oh,” I said, and waited to see if he would say more.
“I don’t know much about them,” he said, “before my time. They were called guns. They also had things that were like guns but bigger, called bombs. They killed hundreds with one shot. Knocked down houses too.”
“I saw them mentioned,” said Azrael, “in a book I was reading. When I asked Nanny, she said she heard Dragon tried to remove all references to bombs, especially how to make them. Too dangerous and much too much trouble.” I laughed.
“And a sword isn’t?” I said. Fenric shook his head.
“A sword can’t kill at a distance,” he said, “even a bow can’t kill fast at a distance. Not without lots of bowmen. However, guns could hold many shots, like a multi-shot crossbow but we’re talking hundreds. Even thousands. In one accurate weapon. And they could fire hundreds in seconds. Bombs were even more dangerous.”
“Hundreds?” I frowned. “That doesn’t seem possible.” Fenric shrugged.
“What I heard,” he said.
“So Dragon weren’t that good at war,” I said, “they had better weapons?”
“Everyone had better weapons,” said Fenric, “when Dragon left Lucas, everyone was still using guns and bombs. Dragon are the best soldiers in the Quadrants. They proved that for nearly three thousand years.”
“If we had guns,” I said, savouring the unusual word, “maybe we wouldn’t need Dragon.” Fenric laughed.
“Nanny Black is right,” he said, “Dragon made sure we don’t have guns. Isn’t that in your book?”
“I haven’t finished it yet,” I said, “But how?”
“Like I said, they destroyed them all. And edited the books. Well, I say edited, I think they probably destroyed anything that said much about those kinds of weapons.” The man with the wheelchair came hurrying back and I sat down gratefully. “They had weapons that shot flame,” Fenric went on, “that could blow up a building, and some that could blow up a city.”
“A city?” said Azrael.
“They kept some books,” said Fenric. “I read a few when I lived in Redoubt. They said that if you hit a planet with enough of the city-killers then the planet itself would explode.”
The night was warm but I shivered. Over our heads, the stars ran in a river, twinkling in colours, and it was easy to imagine one small light flaring and then winking out. Was that what had happened to Home? Burned up by city-killers until the planet exploded? All those billions of people, all dying in one horror-soaked moment. We could hear music playing back in the ballroom, the party ongoing.
“Dragon seem very paternalistic,” I said, “as if they don’t trust people to make the right choices.” The men all laughed. Azrael didn’t, but sounded like he was smiling.
“Do you know anyone who makes the right choices?” he said. I thought about that.
“Aye,” I said, “forget I said anything. But how does Dragon make them? Dragon blood is no guarantee of any sense at all, we all know that.”
“Dragon have never sought to rule,” said Fenric, “they’re not secretly running anything, Polo, they’re spreading their genes. We’re too vulnerable, too obviously not human. We have to stay in charge or we’ll lose it all. Like we did on Lucas.” I looked up at him, his face half-hidden in the darkness. I didn’t push it further. I had an inkling of something, and I didn’t really want it proven.
What was it Virginia had said? Nothing had changed here in a thousand years. I took it simply as an expression, not that she had personal knowledge.
****
Completely inactive sexually for longer than I could remember, at the beginning of the next week I knew I was on the mend. During a physio session I got hard when Virginia’s arm brushed my belly.
“I can’t be hurting you enough,” she said, sounding amused.
“Sorry,” I said, trying to will it away. “You are hurting me, a lot. I must be feeling my oats. Or I’ve become a masochist with all needles they’ve stuck me with.” She laughed, I ignored it, and my refusal to pander had the desired effect.
“Time you left the hospital,” she said, “Stefan was saying Azrael’s nearly ready. You two keep each other company so we want to keep you together for now. It’s sweet the way you help each other.”
“We’re not a couple,” I said. She laughed.
“Well, there’s that hard-on and the way you look at me sometimes, Polo, not to mention the way you look at everyone else, so I kinda figured that. Besides, even at your age you have a bit of a reputation for doing women.” I relaxed.
“I’m omnisexual,” I said. She smiled.
“I bet you are, kiddo, I bet you are.”
I would have made a pass at her if I was feeling better, but didn’t want to mess up our professional relationship. Then I remembered she was married and resolved never to go there. No matter how tight the muscles in her arse were. Married was messy, no other word for it. There was never just the two of you. Doing couples, that was fine, but never one person out of a marriage.
The moment I was alone with a door that locked, I was contemplating some healthy masturbation. Unsure if my right hand was up to the job, I figured I could manage with my left. Some boys said doing it left-handed was like someone else doing it. It might be fun.
Once Virginia finished with me that morning, I was covered in sweat and feeling limp as a dishrag. There were showers at the infirmary, more hygienic than the baths but not as pleasant and the doors didn’t lock.
Clean, I limped down the corridor to see if Azrael was done, to find him out in the courtyard with Stefan, still hard at work. Azrael’s left hand and wrist, chewed and clawed, weren’t working properly at all, the fingers weak and his fist wouldn’t close. Having been ambidextrous with weapons, he was furious over the infirmity. Still, as Stefan commented, rage was good fuel for his rehabilitation.
Stefan was throwing bioplas balls, letting Azrael try to catch them. Azrael was cursing and snarling but he didn’t give up. I noticed again how alike they were. Stefan was a distant cousin but the Westwych stamp was on him as it was on Azrael, the black hair with a touch of blue in the sun. The blue eyes, the iris scattered with stars. Unlike the northern branch of the family, the southern one seemed to be slimmer, taller, and not tending to bandy legs like Theo and his daughter Kristen.
Though only a short time after dawn, the morning was already very hot. By noon it would be unbearable. I took a seat on a wall in the shade, eyes half-closed, feeling lazy now I was clean. Stefan called my name then slung me a rubber ball. I caught it.
“Therapy,” he said, “keep that one. Squeeze it. It will help with your hand.” I thanked him and did some squeezes.
Something tickled at my mind. I looked around. I hadn’t seen Cree that day
and was expecting it to be him. Azrael and Stefan were right in the corner of my eye as I turned my head. I blinked, turned back, and looked at them again.
Gods above, I thought, are they cousins or is something more going on? I’d noticed before that Azrael moved like his mother, but now I was seeing he moved like Stefan. Indeed they were so much alike it seemed impossible they weren’t father and son.
Stefan is risking a lot, said Cree, who materialised suddenly close to my left and in front.
A lot, I thought at Cree, he’s risking Azrael’s succession. It struck me like a blow. If Stefan was Azrael’s father then Azrael was not the rightful heir to the Sendrenese throne.
Aye, said Cree, he’s a usurper. In my mind I was going over every conversation with Azrael about his father, Crown Prince Perry, killed before we all moved to Peterhaven. Azrael definitely thought the Late Perry was his father. Azrael had issues, he was always saying, his father being a drunk. By all accounts the late Crown Prince was even worse than my father, mainly because being rich meant he could afford to drink more and didn’t have to hold down a day-job.
Gods, I thought, Azrael doesn’t know the truth.
Will you tell him? said Cree.
You can see inside my mind, I thought at him, you know the answer. Besides, there’s no proof. Other cousins look like both of them.
If you believe that, said Cree, I have this bridge for sale. Then Stefan looked right at Cree and frowned. He scrunched his eyes, and looked again. I pretended to be very absorbed in the wall I was sitting on. Stefan nodded to Azrael.
“We’re done,” he said, “go get showered.”
“Wait, please,” said Azrael to me, “I won’t be long.”
“Sure,” I said, “I’ll be here.” Stefan dropped onto the wall next to me, stretching his long legs out.
“Did you see the ghost?” he said. I wasn’t sure what to say. “It seemed to be talking to you,” Stefan went on, “trying to sell you a bridge.” I couldn’t help smiling, then realised that I’d outed myself. I shrugged.
“Aye,” I said, “his idea of a joke.” Stefan’s head tilted sideways, eyes shrewd.
“What else was he saying?” he said.
“He said I’m gullible,” I said, and Stefan nodded, his face serious.
“Are you?” I shrugged again.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Probably.” “I believe Azrael’s the best heir the kingdom can have,” I said. Stefan looked away, out at the little courtyard.
“Good, because he is.” He pressed his lips together. I wondered if I was again risking being silenced. It didn’t shut me up.
“Even if he’s not the heir,” I said. Stefan looked at me again, his blue eyes steady. It was like looking into Azrael’s eyes.
“Your ghost tell you that?” he said, and I shook my head.
“I figured it out, watching the two of you. The ghost, who isn’t a ghost, by the way, said it was true.” He sighed.
“Azrael doesn’t know,” he said. I gestured with my left hand.
“I know and it’s not fair,” I said, “him thinking his father was that alcoholic pig when he wasn’t.” Stefan’s face was set, expressionless.
“His father was his father, he’s the one brought him up when he was around.” I shook my head again. It didn’t seem right.
“Will you ever tell him?” I said. His turn to shrug.
“When it’s necessary. If he wants to marry his cousin, say. He’ll be told before he becomes king. His mother promised. If he’s going to break the law he deserves to do it knowingly.” What a mess. I couldn’t believe it.
“Who knows?” I said. “Me, you, Saraia, the not-ghost and?”
“Nanny Black has an inkling,” he said, “and the Dragon queen knows. Though she was very annoyed. It was a freelance project of mine.” I nearly laughed. I was up to my neck in something I didn’t understand.
“You impregnated the Crown Princess of Sendren as a project?” I said, incredulous. “Like a hobby? An experiment?” Stefan looked proud.
“Pretty much. Don’t you think he’s a fine boy?” he said, and smiled at me. I felt the same easy charm radiating from him that Azrael showed. It was a Westwych trait, not only something in Theo’s immediate line.
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“If he was his father’s son,” Stefan said, “he wouldn’t have cat’s-eyes. Perry had several bastards, you know.” He spread his hands in the air, signifying helplessness. “Some are older than Azrael. Only one has cat’s-eyes. The Westwych line is so corrupt, even with Saraia’s Dragon grandmother, if a child were able to inherit you can bet the kingdom would have suffered. Like the Late Perry being a drunk, it would have been bad for Sendren.” He smiled. “I’ve been a surgeon and my father was a scientist, a geneticist. I have a little knowledge of these things. None of Theo’s brothers have cat’s-eyed children, except the ones married to cat’s-eyed Blood. The queen-” I gasped, understanding.
“Is half-peasant,” I said, “so the Dragon line’s weakened further.”
“Aye,” said Stefan, “so I felt the need to manipulate the gene pool a little, with the late Crown Prince being a waste of space, and seeing the Westwych line in the last generation didn’t always throw cat’s-eyes.”
“In the last generation?” I said.
“Last but one,” he said. “When they made Theo king, they had to go through many closer relatives to the old king before they came to him. None of them had cat’s-eyes, they couldn’t inherit.” I remembered Theo saying something about that. Then I remembered my involvement in something so wrong I could hang for it. This was serious. I shook my head.
“I’m party to treason, Stefan. Thanks.” He shrugged.
“Sometimes,” he said lightly, “the ends justify the means.” I didn’t understand it at all.
“But the Dragon queen is angry with you?” I said. “Even though a Dragon cuckoo is ready to take possession of Sendren?”
“Aye,” he said, “because we’re all supposed to stay hidden in Redoubt so we don’t scare the natives.” So much for my theories about Dragon trying to take over. “Frankly,” Stefan said with a smile, “I was bored. Lilith and I have fought for centuries, so I’m used to that.” I just nodded, feeling shocked. After my suspicions over Dragon longevity, to have it blithely confirmed wasn’t what I expected.
“You won’t betray him,” said Stefan, and I smiled. A bit tightly, but a smile.
“No,” I said, “I won’t. Azrael will be an excellent king for Sendren.” What did it matter what his blood was? He thought his father was the royal line, and was raised and educated with one idea in mind, to be king. I think I would have been less blase if Azrael took the notion less seriously.
“Good lad,” said Stefan, “This is the first chance I’ve had to see my son, Polo. I won’t be here for long, and I don’t know when I’ll get to see him again.”
“He’s a fine person, Stefan. He’s kind but strong enough to be a good king.” He smiled, looking so much like Azrael my heart ached a little. Once, he was like his son. Centuries ago. How many, I was wondering. He looked about forty, maybe not that old.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Anyway, I’m off. Good talking to you, Polo.” I smiled and nodded, and watched him go. He walked with a light step, like a dancer, on the balls of his feet. Not like a man who was hundreds of years old. Hang on, I thought, he said his father was a geneticist. Did he mean the man who made Dragon? Then Stefan was nearly three thousand years old.
I sat on the wall, on a cushion to save my hip, thinking about life and an apparent lack of death. Unlike Stefan, I was getting older. The golden summer was passing, my sixteenth, and I was missing it. I couldn’t ride, or even walk well. Aunt Kristen attacked us on the 28th November, first day of the holidays, and now it was January 2nd. On February 1st, school would start again. My final year and I still hadn’t really thought about study after high school. I resolved to consider my options.
; Azrael found me sitting there and smiled. It was deja vu after Stefan. Gods, how could anyone not know? They were the image of each other. He dropped next to me on the wall and I squeezed the ball in my right hand.
“How are you feeling?” he said. I made a ‘could be worse’ face.
“That Virginia is a hard taskmaster,” I said, “sometimes I think she’s trying to make me cry.” He laughed.
“I know Stefan is trying to do it to me,” he said, “are you still meditating?” I nodded.
“Aye,” I said, “it’s good for the healing. Plus it stops me getting so angry I can’t think. I’d like to fillet that aunt of yours.” He nodded.
“She’s an aunt of yours too.”
“Aye,” I said, laughing, “I suppose she is.” Azrael sighed and shook his head.
“Grandpa is very angry with her,” he said, “says he’ll see her hung.” He rubbed the fingers of his left hand, working them one by one.
“He can get in line,” I said, feeling sour.
“She’s his own daughter,” said Azrael. An elusive thought teased my brain. Something about parentage. I didn’t even remember my conversation with Stefan. I said,
“That must be hard.” Cree appeared.
You’ve been hypnotised. I thought about that. Then forgot it again.
“Aye,” said Azrael, “he’s made her outlaw.” I raised my eyebrows. “There’s a hundred golds reward.”
“A hundred golds?” I said, and whistled.
“Highest bounty ever,” he said, nodding, “she is Queen of Joban, so I suppose he had to make it high.”
“Bitch,” I said, my tone mild, “she’s ruined my summer.” He laughed.
“Aye, mine and all,” he said, pretending to be a peasant. Then he dropped the accent. “I think it’s breakfast time.” That was always enough to cheer me. Good food always reminded me that things could be worse. One might not have even that. We were still eating in the infirmary, meals brought in for us, it being considered too much of a walk to get halfway across the back of the citadel to the dining rooms.