by Trish Mercer
Almost two weeks later, on the 49th Day of Planting Season, 337, Shem sat down in the big chair behind Colonel Shin’s desk with a satisfied sigh. He could see why Thorne snuck over to sit in it whenever the colonel was away. With the lieutenants out on evening patrols—even in the cold of middle Planting Season the boys were active again rearranging people’s livestock—and Thorne not yet returned from The Dinner in Idumea, Sergeant Major Zenos was in charge. He smirked as he looked around the office, appearing larger when lit by the lanterns.
But the notion of control was all an illusion. The big desk, the power—all of it meant responsibility. The desk was filled with paperwork and forms. It equaled drudgery, and why anyone would want possession of it for long, Shem couldn’t understand. He was glad it was his only temporarily.
Except for the contents of one thin drawer. It contained a sealed envelope with his name on it. He slid open the drawer to see if it was still there, and felt his heart drop.
It was.
The Death Drawer—as it was irreverently referred to by those who knew of it—held contents for only Shem Zenos.
Perrin had showed it to him nearly two years ago when they came back from Idumea. He could still hear his friend’s insistence.
“Promise me, Shem. Promise me you’ll do exactly what that letter says.”
Shem had fingered the sealed envelope anxiously. “It’d be easier to promise if you’d tell me what it said.”
Perrin had flashed him The Dinner smile. “Doesn’t work that way, Shem. It won’t be unpleasant, I assure you. I just need your word to make me feel better, then we’ll never speak of this again. In fact, I’ll let you burn it the day I retire from the army.”
Shem had smiled reluctantly. That likely wouldn’t be for decades. “All right, Perrin. I promise I’ll carry out your last request. Now promise me something.”
“All right,” he’d said slowly.
“Don’t die!”
Shem smiled now to remember how Perrin had laughed. Then right after that the crate arrived with his father’s sword, and Perrin didn’t laugh again for almost another year.
But now, yet another year later, the world was right again. Better than right, he grinned as he slid shut the drawer. He leaned back in the chair and started to lift a boot to place on top of the desk when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He quickly put down his foot and resumed a more commanding position.
A soldier came to the open door.“Sir? Captain Thorne’s on his way. He just rode into the stables.”
“Thank you, Staff Sergeant. You and the sergeant out there know what to do.”
“Yes, sir,” he saluted, closed the door, and Shem heard him take a chair in the outer office. He chose those men—strapping, experienced, and fearless—specifically for tonight.
Shem pulled out some paperwork and tried to concentrate on catching up from being away for three days, but he couldn’t. He was sure the captain would be bounding upstairs in a just a few minutes, and then Shem would give him The News.
No one wanted to let Deck do it, even though he was determined. During the wedding dinner his intentions became known when Roarin’ Yordin laughingly asked what Thorne thought of the marriage. There were nearly as many uniforms in Mountseen as there were down in Idumea that night. The tables set up on the dirt floor in the training arena of the fort may not have been as elegant as the mansion, but the large room was filled with as much noise, food, and probably much more laughter.
And no dancing. Colonel’s orders.
“Thorne doesn’t know about the wedding,” Perrin had told Yordin. “Hardly anyone in Edge and no one in Idumea knows.”
“So how are you going to break it to him?” Lieutenant Colonel Yordin asked Perrin.
“He’s not,” Deckett said firmly. “I’m going to talk to him when we get back. It’s my wedding, my wife, my responsibility.”
Yordin shook his head. “It will also be your burial. Next week in Edge. My schedule can’t accommodate that, Mr. Briter.” The slap shook most of the dishes on the long table.
“He’s right, Deckett,” said Colonel Karna. “Don’t make Jaytsy a widow before she’s eighteen.”
Deckett was insulted. “I can take care of this!”
Lieutenant Colonel Fadh leaned over to him from his seat at the table. “You don’t understand men like Thorne. Or men like his father. Captain Thorne knows how to use a sword, and quite well. But what do you know how to use, a pitchfork?”
Deckett didn’t appreciate the sniggers of the officers, and Shem was glad that he didn’t brag that he’d had a lesson in using a pitchfork. Perrin had confided to Shem that his future son-in-law was quite useless as a soldier, but one of his many redeeming qualities was that knew how to raise an amazingly juicy and tender steak.
At least Perrin didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile. “Deck, I appreciate your desire to handle Lemuel Thorne,” Perrin told him. “But he’s not as stable as you. He won’t just talk. He has an impulsiveness that’s dangerous.”
Jaytsy fidgeted in worry next to her new husband.
Deck covered his bride’s hand with his. “I know all about Thorne’s impulsiveness, sir. That’s why I want to take care of him.”
“No!” Perrin said so decisively that Deckett shrank back a little.
Rector Yung, who had traveled down to witness the wedding, leaned over from his seat further along the table. “Deckett, listen to the officers. They know a bit more about the captain than you do.”
Deck’s rector, sitting next to Yung, nodded in agreement.
But Deck’s Uncle Holling, his Aunt Lila, and cousin Atlee looked nervously—as they had all day—at the men in dress uniforms bedecked with medals and patches and sharpened blades.
“I want the job to tell Thorne!” Yordin grinned and slapped. “I’ve got a sword, and I’d love to see the look on his face when—”
“I’ll do it,” Shem had interrupted. “Thorne and I have an understanding.”
Jaytsy and Deck nodded at Shem.
So did Perrin.
Mahrree eyed the three of them, sensing that she was missing something.
“Besides,” Shem added, “the colonel won’t let me stay in Mountseen longer than tomorrow. He thinks someone will take over the fort if one of us isn’t there.”
Yordin pointed a teasing finger to Colonel Shin. “He’s just upset about being the only one not promoted. I told you, Shin, I’m still working on making you a general. Why do you think we all boycotted The Dinner, even after our special invitations?”
Mrs. Yordin whispered loudly across the table to Mahrree. “Because Gari’s afraid to dance!”
“Because you knew you’d eat better here, Eltana,” Colonel Shin replied, winking at Mrs. Yordin.
Gari Yordin gave his wife an irate elbow nudge, but his eyes were smiling.
“Besides,” Perrin had said, “it’ll be good for Captain Thorne to take all the praise for last year’s offensive. Give him some confidence. Help cushion the blow to come.”
Shem now sat in the command office staring at the same piece of paper he pulled out five minutes ago, wondering how that ‘blow’ would be taken. A variety of scenarios played through his mind, and a variety of responses as well. All of them ended with someone being carried to the surgeon’s. That’s why he needed the strongest sergeants of the fort waiting outside.
Boots trotting up the stairs had a familiar gait to them. He took a deep breath when he heard the—
Knock-knock . . . knock-knock-knock.
Perrin was right; the rhythm was all wrong, as well as the implication that it was him and that the person sitting behind the desk should be thrilled that he was banging in such a clumsy stagger on his door.
“Come in,” he did his best impression of Perrin.
“Colonel! I’m back, and I saw your light on—” the door opened. “What are you doing there?”
Shem spread his hands out in front of him and put on a big smile. “Being in charge until
you return, of course! Have a good time in Idumea, Captain?”
Lemuel Thorne walked into the office and came up to the desk, clearly not pleased to see Shem. “Yes,” he said shortly. “Where’s the colonel?”
Shem gestured for Thorne to sit down in the chair.
Thorne’s brow furrowed in worry.
Shem shook his head then gestured again to the chair. “He’s out on a trip with the family.”
“He actually went somewhere? He said he never likes to leave the fort. Where’d he go?” Thorne slowly sat down.
“Mountseen. Yordin’s been wanting him to come down for some time now and . . .”
Shem stopped.
He had to be honest. As much as he despised Lemuel he still found himself pitying him just a bit. He was still young, still inexperienced, and still hopeful.
Also still a presumptuous idiot and a loathsome oaf, but still.
Shem sighed and leaned forward on the desk in what he hoped was a kindly manner. “Captain—Lemuel—the Shin family went to Mountseen for . . . Jaytsy’s wedding. She married Deckett Briter two days ago. He has family there and . . .” When he saw Thorne’s reaction, the words just came out. “Boy, I’m sorry.”
The color had drained out of Lemuel’s face. He looked as if he was going to be sick and his chest heaved up and down. “Briter?”
“He has the fort farm.” Shem gestured to the window. “His parents died from the pox, and he came and took it over during Weeding Season last year.”
Judging by the stunned look on his face Thorne obviously had no idea there had been anyone else but him. “Jaytsy married . . . a mere farmer? What did he do to her?!” He leaped to his feet. “Why such the rush? What’d he do?”
Shem stood up and gently pushed Thorne back down. “Sit down, sit down. Deckett didn’t do anything to her. He’s not that kind of a man.” Shem’s meaning was very clear, and he challenged Thorne to meet his eyes.
Thorne refused but stared at a corner, his jaw clenching.
“There was nothing sudden about the wedding,” Shem told him. “It’s been planned for almost three moons. They’d been courting since Weeding Season when she was working on the farm. Lemuel, I’m sorry, but Jaytsy loves him. Somehow you’re going to have to deal with that and find a way to let her go.”
Thorne’s chin began to tremble and he shifted in the chair as if the seat were suddenly infested with biting ants. “That’s not what was supposed to happen!” he yelled. Something came unhinged in the captain, and he jumped to his feet again, blindly swinging his fist.
Shem had expected this and already dodged out of the way so that Thorne’s fist connected with the wall behind him, embedding itself in the splintered wood. The captain yelled a complete list of swear words, a few of which, Shem concluded, must have been new that he picked up in Idumea.
Sure that Thorne’s situation was not about to let him deliver any new punches, Shem shook his head in sympathy as Lemuel writhed in pain.
He opened the door. “Staff Sergeant, would you please go get Dr. Frenulum? Captain Thorne is not well. Again.”
As the sergeant ran down the stairs, sheathing the sword he wasn’t going to need, Shem regarded Thorne with genuine pity. He gently tried to extract the now bleeding fist from the wall that refused to release it, grateful it was the wood that caught it and not his face.
“Boy,” he said to Thorne, who was panting in pain, “first thirty stitches, then the pox, and now a . . . yes, I pretty sure it’s broken, a broken hand to accompany your broken heart. I thought when the new year started a few weeks ago that it might be a little easier on you, but I guess it isn’t.”
---
When Thorne’s eyes opened in the morning he knew exactly where he was: the surgery wing.
He might as well have had all of his belongings moved from his quarters considering how often he found himself there.
He glanced down at his right hand, wrapped extensively with bandages and strips of wood to keep it immobile, and cursed quietly that he didn’t use his left hand instead to try to hit Zenos. Writing back to Idumea was now going to be painful, in many aspects. The familiar dizzy buzz of the sedation was wearing off, allowing him to fully appreciate the aching of his hand.
The surgeon noticed he had awakened and came over to him. “Whenever you feel up to it, Captain Thorne, you may leave,” Frenulum told him. “No reason to keep you here longer than you wish. Just take it slow for a time. That hand will need to heal for at least six weeks.”
Thorne immediately got off the cot, ignored the swooning of his head, and staggered past the surgeon. He forced himself upright and strode to his quarters in the next building, pretending that his hand didn’t throb as if it were twice as big as it should be.
He slammed the door to his room and sat down hard on his bed. On his desk waited two files he’d brought from Idumea: one thin, the other thick. He took a few deep breaths to try to clear his foggy mind, then reached over and grasped the files with his left hand. He dropped them on the bed and opened the thinner file. He immediately closed it in disgust and threw it in the cold fireplace to burn later.
No need for notes from his mother now on how to court Jaytsy Shin. Briter. No wonder none of them were “up to the journey” to Idumea for The Dinner.
It didn’t make any sense. He’d done everything right, too! He’d become so close to the colonel he was practically living under his arm. He’d said all the right words to Jaytsy, gave her some time as she requested, then offered her the most unrejectable invitation, which she still rejected. It was baffling! How could she pass up such a specimen of perfected manhood for a mere farmer?! She was denying her bloodlines, allowing her impeccable traits to be mingled with a man who worked in dirt. Why?
He pulled over the larger file and read the name on top. Lemuel hadn’t seen it before, but now . . . of course. It was finally making sense.
He opened the cover and skimmed the pages that didn’t interest him four days ago when they were handed to him. There were notes dating from several years. Lemuel felt slightly sick to his stomach, but he didn’t know if it was because of the sedation, the throbbing of his hand, or the words in the file. Maybe all three.
Leaning against his pillow, he wondered again why no one had recognized it. Even his Grandmother Cush had bravely laughed at Qayin just a few days ago when he was on one of his typical rants against Perrin Shin. Lemuel had tried to think of ways to defend his colonel. Having been with him for almost two years, Lemuel could see qualities in Colonel Shin that were lacking in his father and grandfather. Hearing his father go on irately about Colonel Shin tore at Lemuel’s gut. But he didn’t know how to defend Shin without having his father considering him a traitor. It didn’t matter they were all in the same army.
His grandmother had finally spoken up. “Now Qayin, don’t go placing all the blame on Perrin that they didn’t come to The Dinner,” she had said with a casual wave and a forced chuckle. “It wasn’t his handwriting on the message that came from Edge. It was hers. Someday you’ll understand. A man may look at the scenery, but it’s his wife who tells him what he sees. No married man ever has as much power as he thinks he does.”
That didn’t necessarily apply to Qayin and Versula Thorne, but it certainly seemed to in other marriages.
Lemuel looked again at the name on the cover of the file, written in Gadiman’s hand, with notes underneath from Genev, and considered more recent events.
How she showed up at the camp the morning after the offensive.
How Perrin was so angry that he pulled into the forest. As Fadh had helped Lemuel out of the tent, he saw them disappear into the trees, so desperate the colonel was to get his wife out of the way.
Yet still she stayed.
And there were incidents nearly every day.
Perrin always had time to see her when she came to the office, even after he had turned away others.
He never wanted to be late for dinner, sometimes leaving before all the busine
ss was finished, promising to do it in the morning.
If she could influence even the way he worked when she wasn’t around, what kind of control did she maintain over him at home?
Lemuel shook his head in sympathy.
What kind of a man could Shin be without her manipulation? And how much did she sway Jaytsy? He’d seen his mother and grandmother nattering. They could talk each other out of, and into, anything. How could Jaytsy not have wanted him? Easily: her mother’s coercion.
Lemuel ran his uninjured hand over the file with a new determination and purpose. In a way he felt he had dodged yet another sword plunge by not marrying into that family. What would it have been like with her as his mother-in-law?
No.
No, he would free them, especially Perrin Shin. That’s how he’d repay him. Help him see just how blinded and controlled he was all these years—release him to finally become the man he always should have been.
And when Perrin became High General Shin, Lemuel Thorne would, out of gratitude, be appointed as the youngest advising general in Idumea’s history.
And then, some day, High General himself.
It would still work.
He smiled at the thick file. When Administrator Genev gave him the record several days ago, it was with a specific charge: “The colonel may be the Administrators’ eyes and ears, but you are my personal eyes and ears in Edge. Find out the truth, and we can bring Colonel Shin home to Idumea where he belongs. He’s not the real problem. It’s always been her. This is will be the greatest challenge of your young career. Should you succeed here, many more opportunities will open up for you—situations and knowledge that you have no idea about. This is your first and most important test. It’s up to you to deliver us Mahrree Peto Shin.”
“And you will have her,” Thorne promised the file.
Chapter 27 ~ “How many women—girls—had an old historian as their childhood hero?”
Mahrree’s eyes opened early in the morning and she thought, It’s Weeding Season, and today they’re leaving!