Earth Gate (Wine of the Gods Book 17)

by Pam Uphoff

  Add in the lowered sea level because of the ice age and the trip to Cadent became a leisurely sail through beautiful clear seas, past what was probably Jamaica with the sharp peaks of volcanoes—only two smoking. Then winding through the narrowed channel between the larger Yucatan peninsula and the much enlarged island of Cuba, across warm gulf waters and up a broad brackish river to Cadent, a few kilometers inland. Not that I ever saw Florida, but it doesn't seem to have changed much from the pictures. Palm trees and orange groves. Still far enough south to not feel the ice age winters.

  Jaime was used to his role now, he'd played the Amma's son to the neighboring small states that had formed with the collapse of the empire. All he had to do was not act like his real orders were to protect Ambassador Johnston. Oklahoma got a lot of teasing about being the only Earther to keep the same job, no matter what happened. This trip was their first truly foreign adventure. Oklahoma wasn't planning on staying. Sergeant Allen Raynor had been the head of the third squad, but his fast tongue and faster brains had landed him a spot as the ambassador's understudy. Most likely, he'd be staying here when the Ambassador headed home. Jaime and Andy, as the sole single men of their squad, were tapped for the job of traveling entourage. Scrawny Andy simply couldn't pass as nobility. So he carted the luggage. Kenton was making his first trip as the Amma's son.

  "My half brother." Jaime shrugged. "Obviously."

  A modest welcoming committee had met them at the dock. A pair of men from the government, as well, Jaime was relieved to see, as the "man of business" they'd hired through the mail to rent a furnished house and show up and transport them there.

  "Oh yes. I suppose you have raahther a lot of them."

  Great, a draaaawling noble. The fellow was apparently the Emperor's personal representative. Sir Glenn Something-esky.

  Jaime snorted. "Frankly, one loses count. And the Palace is also swarming with cousins in various degrees."

  "We've all been rather surprised at how . . . unusual Amma Lyle has turned out to be."

  Jaime nodded. "We blame it all on his mother. She read too much, and taught him early. From Karista, you know. All hot about education. Although, I must admit the economic theories seem to be working."

  "And he's not killing off rival soltis."

  "Hardly rivals. Father and Uncle Paul are good friends and the children are getting put to work as soon as they grow up." Jaime cast a glance back at Kenton. "Nineteen years old. Charming. Solid education. A little seasoning and he'll do well at one of the embassies."

  "Hmm, yes . . . so you're going to be dealing with Scoone and the Kingdom?"

  "Well . . . Scoone doesn't seem to be terribly interested in a foreign embassy. The Kingdom of the West is nowhere near us, so we may not bother with an actual embassy."

  "Until you conquer all the small states, all the way to the Cific." Sir Glenn eyed him.

  Ah. The son is being pumped for info, while the ambassador gets all the formal attention. He checked that Kenton was at the ambassador's side, and Andy, looking subservient, had stacked the luggage and was standing by, quite close to two big fellows in the Emperor's colors.

  He turned back to his questioner. "I doubt all the states to the west wish to join us, and we've no desire for conquest. Diplomacy—and defense, of course—is our plan. Frankly, we've got enough to worry about with Discordia gobbling up territory, by force, to our south to stretch too much to the west."

  "So you'll cede the west to Allantro and Jyth?"

  "I . . . think they both are happy with a few small buffer states between them." Jaime shrugged. "With luck, and some tricky diplomacy we may manage a nice big neutral swath through the Narrows that is open to trade and overland transport from the Kara Sea to the Cific."

  "And how do you categorize Verona, in this neat little fantasy of yours?"

  "A trading partner, at best, a trading rival at worst. With Jyth's claimed territory between us on land, there's no point in actual animosity."

  The man shrugged. "Eh. Jyth. We really ought to bite off a chunk while they're weak, barely consolidated."

  Jaime made a doubtful shrug, turning as the ambassador waved him in. "Excuse me, Sir Glenn, Ambassador Johnson requires my attention."

  The Veronians went their own way, leaving behind an invitation, three days hence, to present their credentials to the Emperor. The "Fascians" loaded up in the hired carriage. Andy up with the driver, and the rest of them inside with the man of business.

  Jaime kept half his attention on the streets outside, hoping to get some feel for the city layout. The house was small, but in a rich looking area. The furnishing were minimal, but an adequate starter set. Maybe we can import the Ambassador's wife, to bump up the style level, here.

  A small stable in the back, four stalls and room to get a carriage undercover.

  The driver of the carriage swung into a sales pitch—good solid workmanship on the carriage. Needs to be sanded down and re-varnished. The well trained foursome, handsome and well matched. All the same color is hardly a selling point. They are all getting a bit old, need to be fattened up a bit.

  But Sergeant Raynor nodded his approval, and with a bit of dickering, they had themselves some transportation. Jaime and Andy quickly got to work laying in hay, feed and bedding. Jaime slipped a bit of the much horded wine into the horses' feed, and they got to work on the carriage.

  Three days later, the horses were still a bit thin, but glossy and prancing to deliver the Ambassador and entourage to the Emperor.

  The Emperor was a small elderly man, sharp brown eyes giving them a good once over. He waved the packet of letters over to a well dressed middle aged man.

  "My son-in-law. Lord Jelesterfair. Fair handles the paperwork. Humph. And my daughter. Can't seem to get my sons interested in it. Smart lads." The wrinkled old Emperor snorted. "Well, welcome to Verona and all that. Talk to my people. And come to the party, next Sunday. Now go away."

  Lord Jelesterfair rolled his eyes and took the packet of documents. "Let me give you a tour of the palace. It's an exquisite example of the worst of our architectural traditions."

  Indeed. Stark straight lines, in poorly proportioned slabs.

  "Reminds me of old Russian concrete style," Raynor muttered, where only Jaime could hear.

  Lord Fair turned out to be friendly, intelligent, and possessed of an entire wing of the palace for the purpose of the administration of the country. His wife, Princess Lalligah, ran the treasury while he split his time between diplomacy, internal security, and their war department.

  "Just overseeing the last two, I've no military or police knowledge to speak of."

  Jaime suspected he was being modest.

  A sullen young man of about twenty was hauled out to be introduced. "Prince Tarkin, third of the King's five sons. He's learning the nuts and bolts of the empire, this year, before he returns to university to complete his education."

  Kenton picked up the Ambassador's subtle gesture and eased back as they moved on. Jaime caught the start of their conversation.

  "So, you get treated like a spare heir too?"

  The sullen boy eyed Kenton. "Yeah. Two brothers ahead of me. You?"

  "Fifteen. And if the old man takes a fancy to one of the cousins, even Jaime there could be kicked to the back of the line."

  Jaime turned his attention back to the Ambassador. Lord Fair was expounding on a city-wide party, coming up this Sunday.

  "Just as well you didn't bring any female staff." Lord Fair huffed out an irritated breath. "You'll probably want to leave the party early, Sunday, and just stay home until the city-wide hangover subsides."

  "Oh? I'm afraid I don't know what the occasion is."

  "Thirty-third anniversary of the Orgy. It's get reenacted every year, and the whole city's sort of adopted it. Umm, mostly just husbands and wives at home, but I've heard there's a street orgy in the plaza in front of the Temple of Love."

  "Temple of Love?" Jaime boggled. "I'd heard about a Church of Love, but
I thought it was a joke."

  "A bad joke." Lord Fair sighed. "Apart from this one night a year we're really a very nice country. I do hope you'll enjoy your stay."

  They enjoyed it very much.

  After the party got rowdy—to put it politely—they hustled the ambassador home, then the four bachelors walked out to view the plaza . . .

  "They cannot possibly have been virgins." Jaime had an ice pack on his head. "Any of them. No matter what they get called. And I am not the God of Love. Not even for an evening."

  "They sure thought you were. But yeah, they didn't seem to be acting virginal." Kenton snickered, then put his own head down with a moan. "At least I got the young dancers."

  "Hog." Andy wobbled into the kitchen and sat down. "I recognize that wine by the effects. Good god, that was more fun than the harem."

  "No way." Allen Raynor propped up the doorway. "There were only two women, last night. I'm not up to the acrobatics of you young pukes. I'm a little surprised Jaime survived."

  Jaime smirked. Winced.

  Two days later they started hiring staff. Apparently the sudden gush of fired servants was a common annual phenomenon, as a lot of staff got fired for, umm, inappropriate behavior during the orgy. And then new staff had to be hired, and pregnancies ignored. There were apparently a lot of "recent widows" in Cadent. The ambassador's residence cleaned up on trained people. Their new cook had been caught fooling with her former employer, by his wife. The two boys in the stable had been caught with (a different) employer's daughters. They hired two maids, fired after an orgy in the ladies' parlour that included the husband and wife, three teen aged children, an aunt, two uncles, the butler and the boot boy. They didn't look like they regretted a thing. Jaime figured they were making it all up until the butler showed up, looking wistful. They hired him too, and he married one of the maids.

  The butler, Cyril Koslowski, was properly horrified by the house's decor and set about making the public rooms fit for an ambassador's visitors.

  Oklahoma and Allen started taking to merchants and shippers, and the navy people about co-ordinating actions to protect shipping . . .

  Kenton's attempts to befriend the princes puttered along tepidly, Jaime failed entirely with the young lords about town. At the end of the year two new men showed up to handle security and communications, and Jaime, Kenton and Andy escorted the ambassador back home, leaving Allen Raynor as the Attaché representing Amma Lyle Lillian.

  Then it was back to good honest work, another dam built during the dry season, and an irrigation network laid out. Jaime was almost sorry to be tapped for the mission to The Kingdom of the West in the late fall.

  Oklahoma had met too many Westerners in Asia to show up in their capital. Another of his understudies, Lieutenant Carl Hitchens was tapped to be the official ambassador. Jaime and Kenton went as "soltis, nice for show, but essentially useless" and trying to not act like the ambassador's guards. After consideration of the Kingdom's reputation for better treatment of women, Devvy Tripp and one of her young native trainees were sent as the ambassador's daughters, in case infiltrating the women's circles might be advantageous. With Andy and Tony Ferraro to do all the support work, they were a larger group than had started relations with Verona.

  King Leano was a big man, blonde going grey. His half brother, General Rufi Negue, was apparently the other half of an odd split of powers. The kingdom always had two brothers inheriting together, but splitting their authority, with one running the administration and the other, the military. And apparently a good intelligence service as well. The king commented on their economic system, and the growth of the region's agricultural output with their ever expanding irrigation network.

  Karista, the capital city of the Kingdom of the West was a lovely big city. Clean, with sewers and water piped to every home. Broad paved streets and sidewalks. A couple of slum areas, the Docks and the Gully, both aptly named. A big open market. Shops, both common and swank. Banks and hospitals. Restaurants. Karista College for anyone, and the King's University for those with good brains, schooling, ambitions, and money.

  The elite were perfectly happy to invite them to parties—very proper balls, no orgies allowed—and check them out.

  It was like being back in Asia, with witches and wizards looking him over. Kenton nearly hyperventilated, shaking hands with glowing royals in the greeting line at the King's Frost Ball. Jaime fared better until group of gorgeous young women he met started to glow at him deliberately, and giggled when he backed away and came close to fleeing.

  A young man looked over at him and grinned. "They call that bunch the Sisters from Hell. Witches, you know? We figure, two and a half more years till they're eighteen, then every man in the city is in serious trouble. And there's more of them, even younger."

  "Yeah." Jaime shook his head to clear it. "Are there any normal women around?"

  The man burst out laughing, and introduced him to his sister. Who looked down her nose, but did dance with him. Apparently entirely for the purposes of making another man jealous.

  Kenton managed a few dances, then got mobbed by the Sisters from Hell, and fled to the patio to recover.

  "You know, Jaime, I've been thinking."

  "Rapidly, in the last few minutes?"

  "Yeah. That the Captain's suggestion, which I ignored in Cadent, to pick up some college classes and meet possibly future influential people that way might be a really good idea. I . . . ought to have practiced that shielding thing you showed me years ago."

  "Never too late to start practicing. And the King's University is a good idea." Jaime looked over his shoulder at the brightly lit ballroom. "I'm going to have to practice that shielding thing too. And avoid underaged witches." No sign of Neptunite . . . but then she's probably pushing thirty . . . like me! Yikes. It's been eleven years since the comet. Since I fell asleep and woke up in a slave cage. Since we watched the Oners and their trained troops attack Earth.

  "Jaime? Jaime! Are you all right?"

  He snatched a quick breath. "Sorry I just . . . had a bit of a flashback there." A couple of slow controlled breaths. "We're not ever going to get home."

  "This is home for me. And I'm glad you're stuck here."

  "Right. Okay little brother. Let's go find some sensible guys to hang out with."

  Actually a lot of the Royal types were not that much older than they were. Jaime managed a polite exchange with Prince Mirk and his wife. The king's third son was interested in the changes in Fascia's tax code. Jaime dredged up what he remembered of the captain's arguments for moderate regulation and low taxes to stimulate business and business investment. "Father's all about improving the economy to raise revenue, rather than taxing the current businesses and harming the economy in the long run. And then he spends the money on things like new dams, so it keeps spiraling up." Jaime glanced around at the posh party for several thousand people. "He doesn't spend it all on self-aggrandizement."

  Mirk stiffened.

  Jaime shook his head. "Sorry, that didn't come out quite right. Father doesn't think our economy can both grow and support the sort of lifestyle his grandfather lived. Your kingdom is stable and prosperous. A big show like this employs people, purchases food, drinks, and pays musicians. The guests must support a huge number of dress makers. You are, in short, several spirals above us in the climb toward prosperity."

  Snort. "You're quite the diplomat." Mirk cast a glance across the room. "Not that I disagree with you. The other five claimants to the title of 'Amma of the Auralian Empire' seem to be taxing merrily away and spending the money on their armies."

  "Fortunately for us, there are several hundred small independent states between us and the larger, more ambitious polities. We will have to build up our army, eventually. But for now, the economy to support that is what is getting the attention."

  "Very wise of you. Are you going to be in town long?"

  "Six months, tentatively. I hope to be coming and going regularly." Which only matters if we
think we might get back to Earth. Don't want to miss the gate!

  Mirk's irritated wife hauled him out to dance, and Jaime chatted briefly with a few other men before the giggling witches moved in again. He danced once with each of them, until their parents whisked them away at an early (proper in this society) hour.

  Jaime chatted and danced for two more hours, until Ambassador Hitchins collected his team and headed home.

  Kenton was not the only one sighing with relief. Devvy and Salina were kicking off their shoes and rubbing their feet.

  "At least you guys get to wear sensible shoes! These aren't high heels, but lord, I've been dancing for four hours!"

  Salina Lillian, one of the older daughters of the former, actual, Amma, nodded. "All those young army officers! And the young lords. And some old letches."

  Devvy nodded. "The people from the other Auralian embassies are . . . both curious and obnoxious. I don't know how much of the information I got from them is accurate, and how much is boasting. But they all seem quite ambitious."

  Hitchens snorted. "Indeed. Any contacts with the local movers and shakers?"

  Salina colored up. "I danced with Prince Rebo! He was all over me and pinched my butt!"

  Jaime cleared his throat to avoid anything that could be construed as a laugh. "I had an interesting chat with Prince Mirk. I gave a lot more than I got, though."

  Hitchens nodded. "Not a problem. We're not spies, well, not any more than any diplomat collecting information. Friendly contacts are a good start."

  "So long as they aren't too friendly." Salina grumbled. "I don't mind a happy fellow getting a bit too friendly, but Prince Rebo wasn't happy, flattering, or nice in any way at all. And he's only fourteen! A perv already!"

  "Avoid him." Hitchens shrugged. "He won't be in the power structure for decades, if not longer."