The Silver Crown

by Joel Rosenberg

  She tossed her head, sending her shoulder-length black hair whipping about her face as she turned to glance at him, rewarding him with that smile.

  Lady, you still take my breath away.

  *Should I relay that?*

  Don't bother. If she doesn't know . . .

  He cleared his throat. Aeia, now wearing a halter, turned to wave him to silence.

  Karl raised an eyebrow. He'd never been shushed by Aeia before. He walked over and laid a gentle hand on Andy-Andy's shoulder. She turned her face upward, giving him a quick peck.

  "What is it?" he asked. "This all I get?"

  *Old saying: When you don't know what you're talking about, your mouth is best used for chewing.*

  "Mikyn?" Andy-Andy shook her head. "Please take off your shirt." She turned to Karl. "He's been holding his side all day; he almost couldn't get out of the chair."

  "Can I help?" Ellegon, please relay: Maybe he's a bit shy about taking off clothes in front of you two. Mikyn apparently has some funny ideas—it seems he told Jason that only babies can give their fathers a kiss.

  *She says, "Karl, I think this is a bit more serious." *

  Ellegon, why don't you just peep him?

  *She already asked me to. There's a block—a lot of emotion going on under the surface, but I can't read it at all. I'm not perfect, you know. Sometimes, when you get too intense, I can't even read you.*

  Okay; back to basics. Relay: Let me give it a try. What's to lose?

  She nodded, then rose, giving him a quick peck on the lips before taking Aeia out of the room.

  Karl chuckled thinly. Some welcome. "Hi there," he said in English, then switched to Erendra when the boy didn't answer. "What's the problem?"

  No answer.

  "You know who I am?"

  "J-Jason's father."

  "Right. You can call me Karl. Andrea says that your side hurts. Can I take a look?"

  Mikyn shook his head.

  "You don't have to." Karl nodded. "We'll do it your way. Do you mind talking for a while?" Karl pulled over Andy's chair and seated himself ass-backward, folding his arms over the chair's back.

  "No."

  "I don't remember seeing you around. Are you new here?"

  "Yes."

  New here. Well, if Karl hadn't brought the boy in, then somebody else had; Jason was the oldest person to be born in Home, Jane Michele Slovotsky second by half a year.

  Relay: Tell me about the boy.

  *She says, "Not much to tell. Sad story, but typical. Daven's team brought him and his father in, about tendays ago. They're cropping for the Engineers until they earn their grubstake. They're from Holtun—used to be owned by some baron or other who got burned out by the Biemish; apparently got scooped up early this year, after some battle or other. The mother got sold off. This isn't the first time he's been hurt; Mikyn bruises easily. I think one of the older boys may have been beating him up, but Ellegon can't peep out who—"*

  No need, dammit.

  *You know what it is?*

  I know what it sounds like. He dialed for his command voice. "Take the shirt off, now."

  Wide-eyed, the boy started to comply, then remembered that he wasn't supposed to take his shirt off and pulled it back down.

  But not before Karl saw the huge bruise across his ribs. "Aeia, get in here." His jaw clenched. So much for my day off.

  He forced a smile to his face. "I'm going to have Aeia take you over to Thellaren. You won't have to take off your shirt for him to fix you up. And then you can go right home."

  That last hit Mikyn like a slap. The boy's face whitened.

  Karl smiled reassuringly. "No, not your home. Jason's and mine. You don't have to go back to your father, if you don't want to. But when you do, he's not going to hurt you anymore. I promise."

  *You want me to send for a sword?*

  No. Drop Ahira off at the Old House. Then find Mikyn's father and probe him. If I'm right, scoop him up and bring him, too.

  He nodded to Aeia. "Take Mikyn to the cleric. When you're done there, find him a bed in the New House; he's staying with us tonight. I'll see you later."

  He walked to the door and walked back to the Old House, his hands balling themselves into fists.

  * * *

  Leathery wings flapped outside the Old House, followed by a solid thump.

  Limping slightly, Ahira swung the door open and walked into the room, his forehead creased in irritation.

  The dwarf was barely half Karl's height, but fully as wide. That, combined with his heavy brows and overmuscled body, always made him look as though nature had intended Ahira to be a tall man, but his body had never gotten the hint.

  Despite the situation, Karl had to repress a smile. He always had to, whenever he saw Ahira wearing a pair of Homemade jeans and a blue cotton workshirt. Somehow the dwarf looked more natural in chainmail and leather.

  Karl gestured him toward a chair. "Good afternoon, Mr. Mayor."

  The dwarf remained standing. "Cut the crap—I'm busy. I was busy, that is, until that damn dragon of yours swooped down out of the sky and scooped me up without so much as a by-your-leave."

  "What's the problem?"

  "Territory dispute. Riccetti's complaining that Keremin's encroaching on a field that belongs to the Engineers."

  "Well? Is Lou lying?"

  "Fat chance."

  "So? What's the big deal?"

  "Well, Keremin's a Joiner, but he's been a quiet one, lately. I'm trying to smooth it over, without getting him all that angry at me just before the town meeting."

  "Any chance of giving Lou a substitute parcel?"

  Ahira shrugged. "It's the lot just west of the cave." He sighed and sat down. "And it's his. Politics is thirsty work—hint, hint."

  "Sure." Karl found two clay mugs in the near cabinet, then took a bottle down from the shelf, uncorked it, and poured each of them three fingers of Riccetti's Best. "You missed something kind of important."

  "What is it now?" Ahira sipped his whiskey, then made a face. "This isn't too bad, but have you tasted the beer lately? I could swear that it's getting worse. I'd give my kingdom for a Miller, my empire for a Genny Cream."

  "Ahira, we've got a case of childbeating, I think."

  "Shit. Who?"

  "New folks. The kid's name is Mikyn. I don't know the father's."

  The dwarf's free hand clenched into a fist. "You want me to handle this? I don't like childbeaters any more than you do."

  "Sure you do. You feel a lot of sympathy for the poor, misunderstood bastards. Matter of fact, you're the only thing that's standing between big, bad Karl Cullinane and this particular poor, misunderstood bastard."

  "Really? You're sure about that?"

  "Yup."

  Leathery wings flapped overhead. *We are here. And you were correct about Alezyn. I'm sorry, Karl.*

  Why?

  *Dammit, this is the sort of thing I'm supposed to spot, and prevent. It's just that I hate probing people I don't know, and it's really—*

  Shh. We're not required to be perfect. We're just required to do our damnedest.

  *But what do we do when that isn't enough?*

  There wasn't an easy answer to that. Karl lifted his head. "Alezyn, get in here. Now."

  The door swung tentatively open, and Ellegon nudged Alezyn into the room. Alezyn sprawled face-first on the floor, then picked himself up.

  The trouble was, Alezyn didn't look like a childbeater. He was a short, balding little man, with a round face and wide eyes; his expression was half hostile, half frightened; he looked far more like someone beaten on than the sort of brute who would take his frustrations out on a child.

  "What is this all about?"

  "We want to talk with you," Ahira said.

  "Yes, Mr. Mayor." Alezyn started to tug on his forelock, then caught himself.

  "And," the dwarf went on, "either we're going to have a very productive talk, or . . ." He let his voice trail off.

  "Or?"

&
nbsp; Ahira turned to Karl. "Show him."

  Karl stood. He grabbed the smaller man by the front of his tunic and easily lifted him off the ground.

  "We haven't met before. My name is Karl Cullinane. And what I want is for you to understand why I'm going to start with this." He bounced Alezyn off the nearest wall, then took a step forward as the other lay on the bare wood floor, gasping for breath.

  Ahira caught his arm. "No, don't kill him."

  Ellegon poked his head through the door. *No, I have a better idea. Let me eat him. I've always wondered how a man who beats children would taste.*

  Karl wouldn't have thought it possible for the little man's eyes to grow wider. He was wrong.

  "Never mind, Ellegon," Karl said. "It'd probably poison you."

  *From Ahira: "You're planning to put the fear of God into him, right?"*

  No, the fear of me. Sometimes God doesn't follow through.

  *Too risky. He might take his frustrations out on the kid, then panic and kill him.*

  So?

  *So follow my lead.* "Put him down, Karl."

  "But—"

  "Put. Him. Down." As Karl complied, the dwarf helped Alezyn off the floor, and threw an arm around the man's shoulder. "Let's talk, just you and me."

  Alezyn made an abortive attempt to shake the arm off, but he might as well have been trying to pry away a steel bar.

  "I understand what you've been going through," Ahira said gently. "Captured, enslaved, your wife sold off. And now, you're in a new country, and we don't do things the way you did them at home. Frustrating, eh?" He helped Alezyn to a chair, then offered him a sip of whiskey. "Go ahead. It'll be good for you."

  The little man took a shallow sip. "Yes, b-but—can I talk freely? Without him hitting me again?"

  "Of course. You're under my protection while you're in this room." The dwarf turned to glare at Karl. "You hear that?"

  "Yes."

  "Yes what?"

  "Yes, Mr. Mayor."

  "Better." Ahira turned back to Alezyn. "You were saying?"

  "Mikyn is my son. When he disobeys, I have the right to punish him. He's my son. Mine."

  "That's right. And what you're going to have to learn is that here, 'my son' or 'my wife' or even 'my horse' means something different than 'my shovel.' Or . . ."

  "Or?"

  "Or I'll kick your ass out that door and let Karl slice you into breakfast for Ellegon," the dwarf bellowed, his face a mask of rage. "As I was saying," he said in a calm voice, "you've got a lot to learn. And I don't think you're going to learn it cropping for the Engineers. I've got just the schoolroom in mind. Karl."

  "Yes, Mr. Mayor?"

  "Escort Alezyn over to the parade ground. Daven's team is running some maneuvers." He switched to English. "The other day, I was telling him some stories my father used to tell me about Marine boot camp. He'll understand when you tell him that Alezyn is to be treated as a boot." He turned to Alezyn and spoke in Erendra. "Karl will take care of your son until you're done training."

  "Training?"

  "Yes. We're going to make a warrior out of you."

  "A warrior?" Alezyn's face whitened.

  "Yes. It's either that, or banishment. You can start running right now, if that's what you want. Or . . ."

  "Or?"

  The dwarf chuckled. "Whenever I end a sentence with an or, you really should hold on to your curiosity. We're going to make a warrior out of you, or we're going to kill you trying. You can either get your stupid butt out the door and wait for Karl, or . . ." His voice trailed off.

  Alezyn didn't ask; he bolted for the door.

  Karl chuckled. "Ahira, I like your style." He sobered. "We've got lots to talk about. Why don't you bring Kirah and Janie over to the New House for dinner?"

  Ahira picked up his cup and drained it, then looked inside. "I seem to be out of whiskey." Karl passed him the bottle; ignoring the cup, the dwarf uncorked it and tilted it back. "Mmm . . . dinner sounds good—want to include Riccetti?"

  "Sure. Can you put him up for the night, though? I'm putting Mikyn in our guesting room, and I wouldn't want to slight Lou."

  "Damn well better not. And sure, he can have my room. I don't get much use of it, lately."

  "Really? I didn't know that your social life had picked up."

  "Very funny. Janie's been having nightmares again. I have to sleep with her most nights." The dwarf snorted. "At least, she says she has bad dreams; I think maybe she just wants some more attention."

  "You're spoiling that kid."

  "You think so, eh?" Ahira cracked his knuckles. "You want to try to stop me?"

  "Me?" Karl raised his hands in mock surrender. "I wouldn't dare—but I'd better get over to the house; U'len will have my hide if I don't give her a bit of warning. And we'll add Thellaren, too. Get some work done tonight."

  "How about Karl's Day Off?"

  "Screw Karl's Day Off." He walked out into the square, where Alezyn stood waiting.

  Chapter Five

  Dinner Party

  No medicine can be found for a life which has fled.

  —Ibycus

  Karl considered the last thick wedge of blueberry pie on the earthenware serving tray, then decided that the remaining shards of Karl's Day Off entitled him to it.

  He slipped it onto his plate and brought a spoonful to his mouth. Damn, but it was sweet. Fresh-baked goods were what he missed most when he was on the road.

  At the other end of the table, Andy-Andy smiled a promise at him.

  Well, maybe fresh-baked goods weren't exactly what he missed most.

  Sometimes, life is almost worth living. He folded his hands over his belly and sat back, letting his eyes sag half-shut.

  Reaching for a piece of cornbread, Ahira accidentally elbowed a knife from the table; it clattered on the floor.

  Karl leaped out of his chair, his hand going to his waist for the hilt of the sword that wasn't there.

  "Karl!"

  He stopped himself in midmotion, feeling more silly than anything else. Gesturing an apology, he took his seat, feeling every eye in the room on him. "Sorry, everybody. It's . . . just that it takes a while, after you've been out. I kind of need to . . . decompress."

  "You're not the only one," Chak said from the doorway, chuckling as he sheathed his falchion. The little man walked over to the table and took a piece of cornbread from the breadboard. "When I heard the clatter, I rolled, drew my sword, and was halfway down the stairs before I realized that it was probably just some eating ware."

  "How are the children?" Andy-Andy asked.

  "Wonderful." Chak smiled. "Jason and Janie are snoring, and I was finally able to get Mikyn to fall asleep."

  Karl snorted. "You didn't have to play baby-sitter, you know. You're allowed to come up and eat with the rest of us."

  "I never see enough of Jason and Janie," Chak shrugged. "I've seen you eat more than often enough, Karl. It's no thrill."

  "Thanks." Karl gestured to a chair. "Do you want to join us, or would you rather go watch the children sleep?"

  The dark little man pitched his sheathed falchion into the swordstand in the corner and sat, pulling himself up to the table next to Aeia. "U'len, I'll have some beef," he called toward the kitchen.

  The answer came back immediately: "Then go bite a cow!"

  A chorus of quiet chuckles sounded. Karl looked around the long table. Except for Chak, everyone seemed satisfied, although Aeia's plate was closer to full than he liked to see. Was she eating so lightly because of some teenage pickiness, or because she was afraid to appear less than grown-up in the way she handled a knife and fork?

  Well, either way, she could always snack later, he decided. U'len wheedled easily.

  In the seat of honor at Karl's left, Lou Riccetti had pushed his chair away from the edge of the table and loosened his trousers' drawstrings, accepting the offer of a damp cloth from the teenage junior apprentice Engineer who waited attentively behind his chair, one hand always resting on
a holstered pistol.

  More than once, Riccetti had privately offered to waive the bodyguard when he was visiting, but Karl had vetoed that. For the next few years, Lou Riccetti would be the most valuable person in the valley, and the rituals that Riccetti and Ahira had developed for the Engineers were too useful to allow for weakening exceptions. Karl wasn't necessarily going to remain the only target of guild-inspired assassination attempts.

  He frowned; Riccetti's weight bothered him. Karl had always secretly suspected that Riccetti, pudgy before they'd been transferred to This Side, would run to fat, but he'd been dead wrong. Lou was almost skeletal these days; he claimed he was just too busy to eat, and while his junior Engineers cooked for him, none was ever presumptuous enough to tell the Engineer to slow down or eat more.

  "I should send U'len over to cook for you," Karl said. "Got to get some meat on your bones."

  "I'm doing fine."

  "I'll tell you when you're doing fine, asshole. Eat regularly, put on some weight, or I'll tell U'len to keep the stew coming while I hold you down and force-feed it to you."

  The apprentice—Ranella, that was her name—kept her pimpled face calm only with visible effort. In Engineer Territory at the north end of the valley, nobody spoke to the Engineer that way. Ever.

  "And I get no say in the matter?" U'len said with a sniff, as she bustled through the curtains covering the arched doorway that led from the kitchen to the dining room, two fresh pies balanced on a wooden slab next to a platterful of roast beef that overflowed, dripping red juices. She was a profoundly fat woman of about fifty, her face perpetually red from the heat of the stove.

  "You think I have little enough work to do here, that you can make me cook for those filthy Engineers as well? You should lay off your sword practice for a few tendays, and exercise your mind. If you have one." She handed Chak the platter of beef, then set one pie down gently on Andy-Andy's end of the table and slammed the other down on Karl's. "Always making problems for me, for your wife, for everyone and everything . . ."

  "Easily solved—at least as far as you're concerned," Karl said. "You're fired."

  "I am not. You wouldn't dare, you brainless son of a—"

  "Enough."

  "I will tell you when I've said enough," she called over her shoulder as she vanished back into the kitchen. "Damn fool swordsman. I'd say he had droppings for brains, except that'd be unfair—to droppings. . . ."