by Dave Duncan
“No.” He shook his head. The sun seemed to dim for his smile. He returned his attention to the bowl and Maya’s mangled efforts. “You remind me of Centurion Hardgraa, you know,”
Eshiala could imagine no one she less resembled. “In what way?”
“He hates the palace, too.”
Her defenses sprang back to their posts at once. “That’s absurd!”
“I’ve watched you,” he told the bowl. “Do you know what the domestics call you behind your back? The Ice Impress!”
“What the servants choose to call me is no concern of mine!”
“But servants usually know more of the truth than anyone. They’re all spies, of course. The wine steward and the chief coachman report to Umpily. Emthoro’s people own a footman and the pastry cook and so on.”
This conversation was insane! Shandie had warned her before they were married that her maids of honor would gossip mercilessly, but she had not worried about the servants. “Why in the world should Lord Umpily spy on the prince?”
“This is the court. Everyone spies on everyone.”
She did not believe it. “And how do you know about them?”
He shrugged. “Security is Hardgraa’s job, of course. I charmed one of the chambermaids for him and then we traded information. Interesting fellow, Hardgraa. Have you ever had a good heart-to-heart with him?”
She shook her head.
“You should! Son of a quarry worker. He joined the army at sixteen, but his tribune decided he had promise, and his tribune ran an illicit gladiator troop. Hardgraa was killing men to amuse rich folk before he was shaving.”
She shuddered. She had heard rumors of such affairs and the vast sums gambled on them. She clasped her elbows tightly.
“Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Ylo said, reaching for another flower. “But not much of one. At twenty he blackmailed a legate into… well, never mind. Hardgraa fought his way up from the swamp. It’s easier for him than you.” Still the signifer continued to strip petals from the roses. Maya was beating the remains of her own flower to death on the bench.
“What’s easier?” Eshiala felt she was being entangled in a web of words. Every time she tried to move, he stuck her more firmly with some new puzzle. No one else ever talked to her like this.
He glanced up and studied her for a moment, then reached for another rose. “He was born in the valleys. No one expects him to know what wine goes with fish, and he never will. You came up from the foothills and expect to be able to pass on the peaks. You never will, either.”
She thought grimly of the hundreds of lessons she had taken in etiquette and dance and elocution and… As she drew breath to retort, he added, “Any more than I would have ever made a good legionary.”
Shandie had warned her that Ylo was in line for a dukedom. Well, however much that might impress some silly little debutante, it cut no rushes with a future impress. “You are modest, sir.”
“True, but no one has ever noticed that before.” Ylo inspected another rose, pinched off a few thorns, and tucked it in his hair. Maya broke into yells of laughter and grabbed it out again.
“It was easier for me,” he said. “I was born on the mountaintops. I went down, not up. Learning to sharpen stakes with an ax is infinitely easier than mastering the aristocracy’s sneaky little games. And you know when you’ve done it wrong, because you get beaten. Helps to be beaten, because then nobody cares afterward. You learn faster, too. Shandie thinks I’m a genius. Sit down. Princess.”
She ought to grab Maya and run. Or at least she should find a couple of her ladies to chaperon her while she talked with this notorious lecher.
Ylo looked up, frowning. “We’re certainly being watched from the windows and this little minx is old enough to tell tales if I rape you, but she can’t repeat what we say. Who are you scared of, you or me?”
“I am not scared of anyone!”
“Then prove it by sitting down.”
“The servants will —”
“You said you didn’t care about them. Where was I? Oh, yes. Shandie thinks I’m a genius. That’s nonsense. I was a consul’s son. I was taught to read and write. Then I became a maggot in the XXth legion. I was taught to work. By the Powers, was I ever taught to work!”
She perched on the end of the bench and he peered around Maya at her. Maya was busy entangling the rose in Ylo’s curls.
“Have you any idea of the load a legionary carries? Well, can you imagine marching in the rain all day with a couple of Mayas on your back—and then digging ditches for two or three hours after that? Can you imagine having blisters for months on end because they never get a chance to heal?”
She shook her head, frightened by his bitterness. His changes of mood were throwing her completely off balance.
“And Shandie can’t imagine cataloguing reports all day. I learned both worlds. But it was easier for me.”
Then he just looked at her under his lashes and her heart missed a beat. If he thought she was a giddy village maid who would fall for a man’s good looks, then he had a big disappointment coming. He was far too handsome.
“I must go!” she said.
“You just got here. You haven’t discovered what I’m doing yet. Princess-brat, why don’t you stick that in your mother’s ear instead of mine? You’ve been warned that I’m a terrible womanizer?”
“Yes I have.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to sneak up on you.” He grinned.
She had returned his smile before she saw the implications.
“You hate the pomp,” he said. “No, don’t deny it, Eshiala. I know as much about women as any man can. Far, far more than Shandie ever will. Nobody ever taught him to play, I think. How often has he made love to you in a bathtub?”
“Signifer!”
“Well?”
“No gentleman would put such a question to a lady!”
He leered at her. “But I’m not a gentleman, I’m a legionary. You’re a grocer’s daughter. Does he ever just tickle you? Tickle you till you scream? I bet he treats you like a drill squad. On the count of three… Has he ever recited a naughty poem in bed? Has he ever spread jam on your breasts and licked it off again?”
“What! Are you serious?”
“Of course not! We’re talking fun here!”
She sprang to her feet and was about to lift Maya…
“I know him much better than you do,” Ylo told the silver bowl. “I’ve studied him carefully for almost two years now. He spoke of you a lot.”
She froze. “I will not believe that the prince gossips.”
“That’s the odd thing! All he ever remarked about you was how beautiful you were and how gracefully you moved. He never mentioned your taste in food, or art, or music. When he wanted to buy a gift for you, he had no idea what gems you preferred. Maybe he didn’t think you would have a preference.” The dark eyes turned to her. She tried to hold his gaze, and couldn’t. She sat down again, feeling a little shaken at hearing her fears voiced so callously.
“Eshiala, Shandie married you because of your looks—you look like the perfect storybook princess. Beyond that, he doesn’t know what he wants in a woman, and he assumes that wealth and power will satisfy you. It isn’t only you—he’s tongue-tied with women. He doesn’t seem to understand them. I know exactly what a woman wants and what I want of her. I am a skilled and ruthless hunter of women. I have six different approaches and I rarely fail.”
She gasped. “This is the most disgusting, insulting —“
“I’ve watched you at mealtimes, talking about forthcoming events, and you can barely swallow. I’ve watched you preparing to leave for a ball and known your insides were knotted like pinewood. I’ve watched your husband kiss you when he comes home, and you don’t hate him.”
His rudeness shocked her speechless.
“But you don’t love him.”
“How dare you!”
“If you say you love him, you’re lying. He’s totally besotte
d with some ideal impress of his imagination, but he can’t love a woman as a person in her own right. He should have realized by now. If he has realized, then he doesn’t have a clue what to do about it.”
“If I tell him what you —“
“Don’t. He has enough worries at the moment. I know all about you. You were married at seventeen. Your family twisted your arm until it twanged.”
So this was what happened when a notorious womanizer made a pass, was it? She was not very impressed so far. She was more angry than she’d been in years.
“You are being very offensive!”
“But in the end, you married Shandie out of a sense of duty. Do you spread your legs for him out of duty, too?”
Feeling her face flame, Eshiala leaped to her feet and reached for her baby —
“That’s what your sister told me.”
She said, “Huh?” in a gasp that left her lungs empty, and slumped down on the bench again.
Ylo had a twinkle in his eye now. “I’m having luncheon with the senator today—he has a colt in his stable I’m interested in.”
Maya was attempting to fix a rose in her own hair, without success. The senator always had a nap after lunch. Oh, Ashia, you fool! Fool! Fool! Fool! No child of Ylo’s would look like a baboon.
“A duchess is fair game,” Ylo said, coming to the final rose, “but normally I would never be so crazy as to seduce the future impress. I’m sure it’s a capital offense and probably involves an especially lingering demise. Red-hot anthills, or something.”
“You will not have occasion to find out.”
“I certainly hope not. Remember the story of the preflecting pool?” He tossed the last stalk over his shoulder.
“I remember my husband asking us not to discuss… Oh, no!”
He leaned back and laid an arm along the back of the bench. “I’m afraid so. With daffodils.”
This should be laughable, it was so absurd, but she was too furious to laugh. “Is this Number Six, or are you developing Approach Number Seven? It must be a recent invention. And remember that my husband asked us…” She was stopped by Ylo’s smile. “It was you who mentioned those prophecies!”
“Would you ever have heard of them otherwise?”
Of course not. Shandie never talked business. “You were planning this even then, right after you got back?”
“I began planning it as soon as I set eyes on you. This is a unique situation. As I said, I am not normally a hero in such matters, nor crazy. I can bull almost any woman I fancy, so why play with the only fire that can hurt me? But it would seem that I have no choice. It is prophesied for daffodil time.”
“Daffodil time?” By daffodil time she would be shaped like a bolster, she hoped.
“I saw you in a garden, with daffodils.”
“In a state of undress, of course?”
“Stark naked on a blanket.”
“What!?”
“And smiling.” He rose before she could. Clutching the big silver bowl, he stepped in front of her.
“I swear to you that is the truth,” he said sadly, “but I am an utterly unscrupulous liar, so you’d best not believe me. I hope for my sake that the pool was playing tricks, because I have no desire to be hanged, quartered, or drawn, just to add an impress to my score sheet. But I hope for your sake that the prophecy is fulfilled.”
This was obscene! “You are too kind, sir.”
“There was a girl like you down in Qoble, married too young to a rich man. I showed her what the act of love could be. She told me later that it had helped a lot.”
“After three years at court, I thought I knew how arrogant men can be. I see I was mistaken.”
“Just inexperienced.”
“You imply that I should find adultery with you a wonderfully enjoyable experience?”
Ylo looked exasperated. “Of course you would! Why else do they consent, do you suppose?”
“I have no idea!”
“There’s your problem, then. Tonight, take the jam pot to bed and explain to Shandie what he has to do.”
She opened her mouth to protest… She was smiling. The more she thought about it, the more outrageous the notion seemed. She chuckled unwillingly.
“Why you laughing?” Maya demanded, coming to her along the bench.
She pulled herself together. “Ylo said a funny thing, darling.”
“Don’t try it on him, though,” Ylo added. “It doesn’t work the other way.”
She looked at his grin, had a vision of Shandie’s hairy chest…
“Why laughing?” Maya shouted, beating her mother’s shoulder with her little fists.
Eshiala caught her breath and wiped tears from her eyes and looked up to see the triumphant glint under those dark lashes.
“How long since you laughed like that. Gorgeous? Try again!” Ylo tipped a blizzard of petals over her. They went in her hair, on her lap and shoulders, all over the bench and the grass at her feet. They were damp and they stuck. Maya could understand that joke. She shrieked with delight.
Eshiala squealed and brushed helplessly at her bodice. “You idiot! Oh, you…”
“Idiot.” He smiled blissfully. “This is my Number-One Approach—make her laugh. Darling, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever dreamed of, but of course I tell them all that. I did want to hear your laugh, and it’s lovely. You can keep the bowl.” He handed it to her and walked away across the grass, whistling.
Eshiala stared after him. Even if he had not spoken one true word, he must have spent at least an hour setting up a stupid practical joke! Just to make her laugh?
“Why Mommy crying?” Maya asked.
4
And so the days passed. Autumn gold crept down from the Isdruthud Mountains and advanced across the plains to Hub. Three comets hung in the northern sky, a sight never before recorded. Odds of the imperor seeing the year out were being quoted at fifty to one against. Most of the great Winterfest balls had been canceled in anticipation of national mourning.
Suddenly elves became rare as unicorns. The imps chuckled and remarked how Winterfest was normally the most prosperous time of year for elves, and elves were notoriously unable to manage money. All those musicians, singers, couturiers, and so on had undoubtedly squandered their anticipated rewards prematurely and must now flee the capital to escape their creditors.
That failed to explain the departure of the poets, dancers, painters, and sculptors. Then came rumors that elves were hurrying to the skytrees of Ilrane from all over Pandemia.
Funny people, elves.
Considering the famine in parts of Shimlundok and the Ambel earthquake, the Imperial Archivist wanted to declare 2998 the Year of Disasters. Shandie would not hear of it and decreed that it be known as the Year of Three Comets.
Nevertheless…
Harvests rotted in southwest Pithmot, due to a shortage of troll agricultural workers. A squadron of the IInd fleet was blown ashore in the Nogid Archipelago and the crews posted as missing, presumed eaten. The caliph’s armies rolled the legions back into Ullacarn, recovering everything the djinns had lost at Karthin and Bone Pass. Gnomish partisans ambushed a cohort in Guwush and ripped it to pieces.
Unconfirmed—meaning faunish and therefore nonimpish and hence unreliable—sources claimed that a blaze of three dragons had escaped from Dragon Reach and ravaged Sysanasso for a week, before all three had inexplicably fallen dead from the sky.
And civil war raged in Nordland. It was nice to know that some things, at least, were normal.
Unbeknownst to anyone else, the good folk of Krasnegar were battling disaster, also. A succession of unseasonable storms took out a section of the causeway at the deepest part of the channel. Without the supplies the wagons brought, the town would starve or freeze before spring. If the herds were lost, it would starve the following winter.
The king organized repairs with wagons and horses and every able-bodied man in the kingdom. The only source of suitable stone was a league away.
Furthermore, the blocks could be placed in position only at low tide, and there was no room for traffic to pass on the road out to the damage site. Three times the repairs were begun, only to be ripped out by another storm.
Rap fretted worse than anyone. He wondered if the Gods were testing him, or warning him, or even punishing him. If he had not known before, he knew now that he would never stand by and let the town starve. Yet, as long as there was any hope that the people could solve their problems for themselves, he held back on sorcery. In the end he did not need to use it, but he suffered all the blisters, exhaustion, crushed toes, and strained backs as if they had happened to him.
Meanwhile, the queen had rallied the fishing fleet to ferry the harvest over the bay. That was a wretched business, also, with women wading out into the freezing waves to load the boats. Many a king of Krasnegar had tried building a wharf on the mainland side of the bay, only to see the winter ice wipe it contemptuously away. The little craft could handle foodstuffs, but they were useless for peat or livestock.
Winter came unusually late, so king and queen won their respective battles, but with mere hours to spare. The northern sky was turning to lead as precious cattle and horses stampeded across the finished causeway, laden wagons rolling behind them, and an army of weary foot soldiers tramping in the rear. Krasnegar slammed its door in winter’s face and the snow came before the next tide. It was going to be tight, but the king’s tallies said the people would live.
Never had so many worked so hard. All through the town, husbands were reunited with wives and parents with children. The wind shrieked in the eaves and rattled casements, while tubs of bathwater steamed and stew pots bubbled. Impromptu singsongs and dances sprang up everywhere. In the saloons, the jotnar began settling long-postponed challenges. Imps began catching up on affairs of all sorts: love, business, and other peoples’.
Similar things were happening in the castle, too. Not in many weeks had Inos been able to gather her family all together. Secure in their private parlor, she and Rap cuddled their children. Holi remembered his father after a little thought. Ten months old now, he was fat and jolly, obviously a royal Krasnegarian misfit, a honey-haired imp with a faun nose. Eva was jotunnish and nine and becoming very protective of her baby brother. Gath and Kadie were soon to be fourteen… where did the years go? Tonight Inos had noticed a few gray hairs in Rap’s brown thatch, and those were new. She would not think about the windburn her mirror had displayed, nor the rest of its lies.