Diplomats and Fugitives

by Lindsay Buroker

  “What sort of trade?” Starcrest asked, though he must already know, since the contents of the message were not a mystery to him.

  Basilard noticed Shukura standing closer than he had been a couple of minutes ago. The Kendorian had his hands behind his back, his eyes toward the manor, trying hard to look like he was not listening.

  My chiefs are able to offer furs, bear fat, ivory from the Northern Sea, and, ah, items made by our priests. Normally, Basilard would not mention anything that hinted of magic to a Turgonian, but Starcrest had lived outside of the empire—the republic—for twenty years and his two younger children reputedly studied the mental sciences.

  Starcrest smiled slightly. “I’m not sure if my people are ready for items.” His smile faded, and he looked thoughtfully toward the walls around the manor, or perhaps he was simply staring into the distance. “The other goods you offer can be and are obtained here. We have hunters and trappers in our northern mountain range. I’ve not heard of a shortage that would make such a trade logical. I can double-check with the minister of finance.”

  Basilard had not expected the offerings to intrigue a Turgonian. At least Starcrest had not scoffed or belittled the idea. He would probably help if Basilard could suggest something more valuable to his people. He might even send a shipment of food as a favor, but Basilard knew his chiefs would not want to accept charity or be indebted to the Turgonians.

  “The Irator Mountains are full of ore,” Starcrest said, “at least on our side of the border. Iron, copper, or other metals that we use in industry would appeal to my people, and gold, silver, and gems are of course always valued by the jewelry makers and for trade with nations that use the precious metals as currency.”

  Shukura stopped a few feet away, no longer pretending he wasn’t interested in the conversation. He looked back and forth from Basilard to Starcrest, his expression one of mild curiosity. Basilard tried to ignore him.

  Our religion and way of life don’t permit mining or other acts that take from the earth that which isn’t given freely by nature. My people wouldn’t be willing to destroy a mountain to prosper from its contents. Basilard signed slowly, choosing his words carefully. He didn’t want to offend Starcrest by implying the Turgonians were wanton devourers of resources, even if everyone knew that their ore- and timber-rich land was one of the reasons they dominated in industry, as well as in war. Personally, I don’t believe in dealing in absolutes. Keeping people fed through the winter should be more important than a few rocks, but I do not know if Mangdoria’s leaders will agree with me.

  “If they would rethink their policy and open themselves to such a trade,” Shukura said before Starcrest spoke, “I hope you would consider dealing with the Kendorians in addition to or—” he glanced at Starcrest warily, “—instead of with the Turgonians. Surely, this new republic has resources aplenty. And they are the ones who drove your people back and into the mountains centuries ago, just as they drove mine out onto the plains where Kendor has access to only a few mountains to mine. But we have plenty of food, domestic animals and crops, in addition to silks and spices from the south. We could certainly trade in exchange for ore.”

  If the interruption bothered Starcrest, he didn’t show it. Basilard tried not to let it bother him, either. Shukura was only looking out for the interests of his people, as Basilard was for his. The man had always been friendly to him, and his manipulations were generally open and obvious, as if to imply he was only playing the game of politics and nothing was personal. Basilard admitted that some of his distrust—all right, the word prejudice might apply—came from the fact that the Kendorians had persecuted the Mangdorians when they had all been one people; the Turgonians weren’t the only ones who’d had a hand in driving Basilard’s people into mountains that few others considered hospitable enough for settlement.

  I will have to consult with my people, Basilard signed, nodding to both men. He had little power to negotiate, but he would not want to be in charge of making such decisions, regardless. Perhaps it was just as well that he was a glorified messenger.

  Shukura’s brow furrowed slightly as Basilard finished signing. “I’ve been trying to learn your gestures, my friend,” he said, “but I’m afraid I still rely on your lady assistant. You’ll take my—our—offers to your people? Is that what you said?”

  Basilard nodded.

  “Excellent. Perhaps this could lead to a more peaceful future, one with fewer misunderstandings and hostilities between the nations sharing this continent.” Shukura included Starcrest in his firm nod.

  “Yes,” Starcrest murmured. “Basilard, may I have a word with you in private?” He gestured toward the gardens.

  Shukura’s eyes closed to slits, but he said nothing. Basilard walked away with Starcrest. He could not promise anything regarding mines and hoped Starcrest would not ask for anything that Basilard could not deliver. He owed the man more than a few favors—he wouldn’t be surprised if his appointment as ambassador had been, at least in part, because of Starcrest—but he did not wish to be put in the position of having to choose between doing what was best for his people and doing what was best for someone who wanted a favor returned.

  “You were going to ask to take Mahliki back to Mangdoria with you,” Starcrest stated as they walked a path winding between flowering butterfly bushes that had been transplanted from elsewhere to fill out the new presidential garden.

  The president said it as a statement, not as a question. Basilard was not sure if he should say that he had changed his mind or admit that he had chickened out.

  I had the thought that she might have experience with blights. Though Basilard had meant to leave Maldynado out of it, he did not feel comfortable taking credit for another man’s ideas. In truth, Maldynado had that thought.

  “Did he?” Starcrest did not sound surprised.

  I did not think you would be amenable to sending your daughter to another country by herself. Also, if she solved the problem… Ah, maybe Basilard should not bring that up.

  “You wouldn’t need to trade for food?” Starcrest asked dryly.

  Yes, Basilard admitted. He wondered if Starcrest and his wife finished a lot of each other’s sentences or had trouble keeping secrets from each other. She was reputedly as bright as he was, if in more scholarly ways, and few people had questioned her appointment to chief of intelligence that spring.

  “It’s true that she might be an ideal person to investigate the blight, especially if it turns out to have unnatural origins.”

  Basilard blinked. It hadn’t occurred to him to think along those lines. Blights happened. Disease was a part of nature. Granted, he hadn’t encountered many that affected many varieties of trees.

  “Would you return to Mangdoria yourself?” Starcrest asked. “I might send her if she had a suitable escort—and if she was willing to go. She is stubborn, and it’s not always possible to turn her interests in the direction you want them to go.”

  It was strange to think of the president and former fleet admiral having trouble commanding his own household, but Basilard had worked with Mahliki before and could easily assign the adjective headstrong to her. And she was every bit as smart as her parents. She would be a commander’s nightmare.

  Belatedly, it occurred to him that Starcrest, in asking if he was going, might be asking if Basilard wanted to be that commander. That was daunting. What had his grandfather said? Young hunters are fearless, much to the consternation of those who must lead them.

  But this was what he had asked for. All he could do was sign, I would go, yes.

  He would have to go, since the courier had already left with Elwa. The man should have waited and asked if Basilard had a return message he wanted delivered. He wondered what Elwa had said to convince the courier to leave prematurely. Hopefully not that a hideous grimbal had pressed her for her hand in marriage. Basilard shook his head. He could worry about that later. Besides, if he agreed to go home and left soon, he might catch Elwa on the road. Maybe h
e could apologize and explain that she could continue to work for him. He could accept her rejection without any awkwardness in the future. At least, he thought he should be able to keep his feelings of hopelessness and dejection to himself.

  “This is exactly what I’m talking about,” Starcrest said.

  Basilard looked at him, afraid he had been too busy with his introspection—or was it sulking?—and had missed something.

  Starcrest had stopped to peer at one of the butterfly bushes, the white flowers still blooming as the days lengthened into summer. “Mahliki.” He touched a bare section of the bush where numerous flowers had been snipped. “She’s supposed to grow her own plants if she wants them for experiments, or order them from the commercial greenhouse in town, not ravage the presidential garden.”

  Yes, my lord. Basilard tried to keep his signs patient, but he was already thinking of this trip back home. If he packed right away, he could leave today and perhaps catch up with Elwa that night. How long would it take Starcrest to convince his daughter to go? And how long would it take her to pack? Mahliki wasn’t the kind of woman that would bring along trunks of clothes and shoes, but she would bring trunks of research equipment; he had no doubt about that.

  “I’ll send a driver and a lorry with you, and I believe I will send Maldynado, too,” Starcrest said. “He can translate for you, and you might appreciate his company.”

  Starcrest turned his gaze toward Basilard. His dark brown eyes, usually keen and penetrating, now seemed kind, almost grandfatherly. Did he know about the mishap in the garden? He must, if he knew Basilard needed a translator. Basilard should have felt grateful, but instead, he felt his cheeks warming with embarrassment. Having lost his translator due to personal choices made him feel inept at his position. And at life. He rubbed his hand over his shaven head as an excuse to avoid the president’s eyes.

  “I have no other employment for him now, so it wouldn’t be a burden to send him along. I do not think Lieutenant Yara would pine terribly if he was gone for a few weeks.”

  Basilard kept from signing that nobody pined terribly when Maldynado was gone. In truth, Maldynado was loyal and always provided humor, sometimes when it was most needed. Basilard could use some humor in his life right now.

  Yes, sir.

  “Convincing Mahliki to leave Sespian might be more challenging, but he’s in the middle of a project, so I doubt he would wish to go along. He also has Mu Lin to watch over, even if she has been adopted by the manor at large and probably has far more guardians around than she would wish.”

  Perhaps Amaranthe might come too? Basilard signed. He had not seen her and Sicarius in over a month—they were scarce around the capital now that they were performing missions out of the country for the intelligence office—but if she was expected soon, it might be nice for Mahliki to have a female companion along. I’m not certain… no, I’m quite certain that Maldynado and I are not suitable chaperones for a young lady. As soon as Basilard signed the words, he wished he could take them back. He hadn’t meant to imply that either he or Maldynado would do anything untoward—even Maldynado had a scruple or two in his lust-filled brain.

  Starcrest’s head tilted back, and he laughed. It was a good, long laugh, the kind where one ended up wiping tears, and Basilard did not know how to respond. He hadn’t meant to be funny.

  “Ah, forgive me,” Starcrest murmured when he finished—he did, indeed, wipe the corner of one eye. “I was amused at the idea of Mahliki having a chaperone. She’s been independent, insatiable, and incorrigible since she was at least eight. I attempted to protect her from herself when she was younger, but Tikaya pointed out, after the sixth or seventh time that she’d snuck away to find some trouble or another, that I must simply train her very, very well to take care of herself. I assure you, she can. She may not be as fine a fighter as you, Basilard, but she doesn’t need a chaperone.”

  Basilard nodded politely. What else could one do in the face of a father’s enthusiasm for his daughter? Besides, he had been thinking more of female companionship for Mahliki, rather than a need for protection. There should not be anything to fear in his country, aside from a predator or two, which he and Maldynado could certainly handle.

  “As to your request, I am expecting Amaranthe and Sicarius back from the desert in a few days. I suspect you want to leave before then, but have one of the highway messengers come back with a note if you run into any trouble, and I’ll send them along.”

  Thank you, my lord president, Basilard signed.

  “Another meeting calls me,” Starcrest said, clapping Basilard on the back, “but I’ll talk to Mahliki today.”

  Basilard nodded, signing his thanks again.

  His mood was lighter as he headed out of the garden, and he realized how eager he was to escape the city, to return to his homeland and smell air untouched by factory smog and steam-engine smoke. Also, he looked forward to traveling with his friends again, Maldynado and especially Amaranthe if she was sent along. As strange as it seemed to miss a taciturn assassin with the friendliness of a man-eating makarovi, Basilard even looked forward to seeing Sicarius again.

  When he stepped around the last bush in the garden, he almost ran into a figure waiting there, one pretending to admire a lovely rose bush. Basilard didn’t quite manage to hold back his scowl, for he guessed that Shukura had overheard some of the conversation. Even if he only could have gotten Starcrest’s half, that would be enough for him to guess the gist.

  “Basilard,” Shukura said, “I’m glad I caught you.”

  Basilard did not sign a response.

  “This blight—do you know if it’s affecting the trees along your southern border? The foothills?” Kendorian land, in short.

  I don’t have details as to the specifics yet, Basilard said, then added a shrug, to make sure he was understood.

  “Even if we’re plains people for the most part, we do have nut crops. Acorns and filberts aren’t a staple for us, but walnuts are, and we highly value our fruit trees. I’m afraid botany isn’t my specialty, so I don’t know if diseases can leap from species to species, but this may be of concern to my people.” Shukura clasped his chin with one hand, massaging it thoughtfully.

  Basilard waited to see why the Kendorian was sharing the information with him, even if he would rather be heading to his room to pack for the trip.

  “Perhaps our people should work together in this matter,” Shukura said. “It sounds like you have—ah, pardon my eavesdropping, please, but it’s a requirement of the job. The triumvirate would have me flayed if I didn’t snoop appropriately while on Turgonian soil.” He spread his hands in innocence, then returned to his original topic. “It sounds like you have a Turgonian, er, Kyattese biologist to go along with you. I believe that’s what Starcrest’s oldest studies, yes? But do you know if she has any experience with the mental sciences?” Shukura asked the question casually, but his eyes were intent as he waited for an answer.

  Basilard opted for another shrug, though he knew Mahliki was not a practitioner. Her younger siblings were, but all of her interests were mundane.

  “I’ve heard that at least some of his children do,” Shukura mused. “Either way, I can offer you the assistance of someone who is a capable warrior, thus to help in case you encounter trouble along the way. She also grew up in the woods and is an expert in herbal lore. She may even have some skill when it comes to the earth sciences—” Shukura tapped his temple to indicate magic, rather than the Turgonian term for more mundane knowledge. “She makes potions from herbs and flowers and should make an excellent addition to what is sounding like your research team.”

  His research team? Basilard wanted to point out that his only official obligation was to return home to ask about trade options, but it was true that he wanted to help with the tree problem if he could. Still, did he need some Kendorian potion maker? A potion maker that would doubtlessly be reporting back to Shukura along the way? The prospect did not sound appealing.

 
I believe we can handle this problem without Kendorian assistance, Basilard signed.

  “But why turn away that assistance when it could prove useful? Are you suspicious of my motives? If so, that’s certainly understandable. It’s true that I would naturally hope for a favor from you at some future date if my compatriot proves instrumental in helping your people solve your problem. That is how these things work, you understand.”

  Basilard nodded. He understood that perfectly. But you have no reason to want us to solve our food problem. Then we would have no need to trade ore to you or anything else. Quite frankly, I would be a fool to bring along a spy.

  “I’m sorry, my friend.” Shukura clasped Basilard’s shoulder. “But I’m not able to understand all of your signs. I do see that you have trepidations. How about this? I’ll send my potion master with you, and if you don’t find her useful, you can send her back at any time.”

  Basilard sighed. There was no point in discussing this if the man couldn’t understand him. He waved in what he hoped was a dismissive manner and headed for the manor.

  “Excellent,” Shukura called after him. “I’ll make sure my comrade is ready to depart with you at dawn.”

  Basilard gritted his teeth and did not look back. If he was able to round up Maldynado and Mahliki soon enough, he could leave town before dawn. Maybe this Kendorian potion-master/spy would miss them. Problem solved.

  Chapter 3

  Ashara had not anticipated the long line. She had never seen a train before entering Turgonia, and this was the first time she had gone to a station to purchase a ticket. It had taken her all of the previous day to find a buyer for her potted plants and the small amount of gardening equipment she had acquired. If she hadn’t needed the money for the ticket, she wouldn’t have bothered.

  As she shifted from foot to foot in the cavernous lobby, she wondered if she should have abandoned everything and sneaked aboard a train during the night. She had been loath to risk an encounter with the enforcers. Of course, she could have taken her bow and pack and walked out of the city, as that had been the way she arrived a year earlier, but the idea of quickly putting hundreds of miles between her and the ambassador had appealed to her.