Savine did not make the obvious point that they were not the only ones. She rested her hand lightly on his. Not steering. Supporting. “Leo, you are a hero to the people. We could easily persuade them to see you as a champion of the common man. You could commit to limits on the working day, protections against exploitation, representation on governing bodies. We could curb some of the most hated practices here in Angland as a demonstration.”
“I don’t know anything about labour laws!”
“But I do.” She had helped develop half those hated practices, after all. “And we need only convince them that you do. Lord Isher, I hear the king’s forces have been spread out among the principal cities of Midderland to deter any uprisings?”
“That’s true.”
“Action by the Breakers, carefully coordinated, might pin the King’s Own down and prevent them from reacting to… other threats.”
Isher nodded, drifting from thoughtful to impressed. “It might.”
“I have some contacts with the Breakers.” She had a notable ex-member in her employment, in fact. “It might be that I could persuade them to support us. At least for now. I have long-standing business connections in Styria, too.”
Isher looked less sure about that. “You really think you can bargain with the Snake of Talins?”
“No. But I understand King Jappo is keen to step from his mother’s shadow… I might be able to arrange a meeting with him directly.”
Leo was more dismayed by every word. “Jappo’s a notorious bloody degenerate!”
“Let us overlook his taste in lovers and focus on his soldiers and his money. His help could tip the balance well into our favour. It could save lives. It could save our lives.”
“The idea makes me feel dirty.” Leo squirmed in his seat. “What would it cost us?”
Savine would have liked to slap him but she settled for calm argument. “The root of the dispute between Styria and the Union is King Orso’s claim on the dukedom of Talins. We could promise to give it up. We could stop supporting Sipani’s independence.” She paused a moment, considering whether to take the next step. But once you decide to rebel against the Crown, there really are no lines left to cross. “We could offer them Westport.”
Curnsbick would have been pleased. He was forever urging her to be more charitable, and here she was giving whole cities away. “Surrender Westport?” Leo gasped in outrage. But Savine noted that Lord Isher stayed silent.
“A paltry price to pay in return for Midderland, Angland and Starikland,” she said. “Have you ever even been there?”
“Well, no, but—”
“A dusty slum clogged with superstitious fools. I for one will not miss it.”
“We fought three wars against the Styrians. Nasty ones. I mean…” Leo looked to Isher for support, but Isher was too busy looking at Savine, his patronising smile long gone. “It’s not very patriotic.”
“If looking unpatriotic worries you, then consider how being hanged for treason looks.” Savine put some iron into her voice. “This is not a game. We must be utterly committed. Fail and we are doomed.”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. A log shifted in the sooty old fireplace and sent a shower of sparks up the chimney. “Her Grace is right,” said Isher. “We are risking everything. We must play every card.”
“But we have to be above reproach!” Leo glanced up at the paintings of previous Lord Governors as if at a disapproving jury. “Pure and principled. If we’re willing to do anything, then how are we any better than them?” He had the wounded whine of a boy who finds the grown-ups have stolen his game and are playing it in a way he by no means approves of. “We have to do the right thing!”
She wanted to tell him that they could afford no right thing, only the necessary thing. That there could be no right side, only their side. But why break down a door when you could just slip through a window? “Leo— ah!” And she hunched over, clutching her belly.
Leo sprang to his feet. “By the dead, are you—”
“It’s nothing.” She grabbed his hand, bared her teeth. “Ah! But could you fetch Zuri, get her to bring that tonic—”
“Of course!” And he rushed from the room as fast as his limp would allow.
Isher had half-risen, too. “Lady Savine, can I—”
“Who do you imagine will be king when this is over?” Savine arranged herself again in her chair and coolly met his eye.
He gave a disbelieving little laugh and slowly sat himself. “King Orso, of course. We plan to remove a corrupt Closed Council. To depose the king would be treason.”
“So you plan to stop at half-treason? Come, come. Meat half-cooked agrees with no one. Humiliate the king but leave him on the throne and you will be storing up your own destruction. Not to mention mine.” She had learned a hard lesson in Valbeck. She would never allow herself to be weak, or vulnerable, or terrified again. It gave her a surprisingly sharp pang, but her merciless logic could only lead her to one place. Perhaps she had loved Orso once, but he hated her now. Her father had lied to her all her life. And loyalty? A trick those with power played on those without to make them act against their own interests.
She met Isher’s eye. “King Orso has to go.”
He ran his tongue about the inside of his mouth, moving now from admiration to suspicion. “I see that we are speaking plainly—”
“When speaking of treason, anything else would be ridiculous. What do you really have without us? Lord Barezin, I understand, laughs himself to the point of incontinence staging pornographic plays about Queen Terez in his private theatre. Lord Heugen, I hear, insists on steeping in a copper bath every morning to replenish his magnetic energies. Should we discuss the shortcomings of Lady Wetterlant?”
“You are well informed.”
“Knowledge is the root of power, Juvens said.”
“And what have you found out about me?”
Savine’s turn to pause. “On you, I must confess, my book has a blank page.”
“I am a careful man, Your Grace. And that unfortunate business with Wetterlant has given me great authority in the Open Council. A unity they have never had before. I will keep the lords in line, I promise you that.”
“Even so. In the army of Angland, we supply the best and most experienced soldiers you could hope for. In Stour Nightfall, we bring a decisive ally. Would you agree?”
“You leave me little choice but to agree.”
She laughed as though he had made an excellent joke. “My aim in every conversation. My husband has fewer enemies and far more popular support than any other candidate. And he has some vestige of a legitimate claim through his grandfather. A better claim than the current occupant of the throne, some might say. He will be king, Lord Isher.” And she would be queen, and the ashes of that most treasured ambition blazed up suddenly again. “If you want us to gamble everything, that is my price.”
“And when the mighty Brocks take the crown, what will remain for the rest of us?”
“Everything else. I think you would make an excellent Arch Lector and First Lord of the Open Council, Your Eminence.” Isher was good at hiding his feelings, but she caught his flicker of satisfaction at the title. “Which would leave your magnetic and pornographic colleagues to decide who will be lord chamberlain and lord chancellor. I imagine Leo would like to choose his own lord marshals, but you could fill the other seats with friends.”
“And does all this come from your husband or from you?”
“What comes from me comes from him.”
“And yet you send him upstairs while we discuss it.”
“So that when the crown falls in his lap, he can honestly say he never sought it, but accepts it reluctantly for the benefit of all. You know he has no taste for deceit.”
“Not a problem his wife shares,” observed Isher.
“Nor his very particular friend. I daresay you would agree with me that the strongest horses often need blinkers. They are best led one step at a time.”
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Lord Isher narrowed his eyes at his glass, swirled the spirit around in it, then looked up at her. She had taken him on quite a journey that evening. From scornful, to thoughtful, to impressed, through admiration, suspicion and, finally, to acceptance. An acquaintance, romance and estrangement all in one sitting. “Your terms are acceptable.”
“Good.” Savine felt satisfied with the outcome. For now, at least. “I look forward to working with you.”
The door burst open and Leo hurried over. Zuri was behind him, but after a glance at the way Savine and Isher were sitting, she hung back.
“Are you all right?” Leo lurched down on one knee beside her.
“No need to worry.” She took his hand, and pressed it to her belly, and smiled. “Lord Isher has made me feel so much better.”
A Private Language
“I had a quick word,” said Broad.
It seemed, without ever agreeing it, that him and Savine had worked out a kind of private language, where the words didn’t mean what they normally meant. What Broad meant by “having a quick word” was that he’d knocked half the teeth out of the mouthiest worker they could find, as an example to the others. “Everyone’s back to work, night shifts, too. Don’t reckon you’ll have any more problems at the armoury.”
“Master Broad,” said Savine, “you are an absolute magus when it comes to labour relations.”
Broad absently rubbed his sore hands together. Labour relations. That’s what they were calling it. He wondered who it helped, giving ugly things pretty names. Didn’t really make it any prettier. The opposite, if anything.
“Might we talk for a moment?” she asked, like they were two old friends who never got the chance to catch up. She had that glow about her, now, that women can get when they’re expecting. Broad remembered that glow on Liddy, when she was pregnant with May. Long time ago, when he had all his hopes intact.
“Of course, Lady Savine. I mean, Your Grace. Sorry.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Gunnar, you never have to apologise to me. I know how much I owe you. No less than my life. Had I not happened upon you in Valbeck…” Her smile slipped for just a moment, then she took a breath and whipped out a new one, wider than ever. “And you have been an absolute treasure since. I hardly know how I used to manage without you. You, and Liddy, and May. Your daughter is a wonder with the books. Such a credit to you.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“I hope you are happy working for me. You and them.”
“We are, Your Grace.” They were, anyway, and that was what counted. “Couldn’t be happier.”
“It feels almost as if—and I hope you will not think me presumptuous—but it feels as if I am a part of your family, and you a part of mine. I would hate for us to be… split up.” She had that glow, no doubt. A healthy softness to her face, and a lively colour to her cheeks, and her hands cupping the slight swell of her belly. But that flinty gleam in her eye was the same as ever. Broad gave threats for a living. He knew how to spot one. He cleared his throat and looked down at his boots. Fine new pair of boots he had, all shiny.
“There is… one small favour I need you to do for me,” she said. “Something very important. It needs someone strong. Someone brave. But also someone subtle. There is no one else I trust to do it.”
Broad swallowed. “Anything I can do, you know that.”
“You were with the Breakers in Valbeck. You were one of them.”
“I… was,” he said, frowning. He didn’t know where she was taking him but didn’t much like the direction of travel. “Thought I was doing right. I guess.” Hard to remember what he’d thought. Seemed like a different man who’d thought it.
“Of course you did. Is there any possibility, do you think…” And she looked up at him from under her eyelashes. “That you could get in touch with them again?”
“The Breakers?”
“Yes. The Burners, too, even?”
She said it as though it wasn’t much to ask for. Not much effort, and certainly no risk. There was that language again, where they both said one thing but meant another. They both knew it’d be a lot of effort. They both knew it’d be a hell of a risk.
“Maybe.” Broad pushed his lenses gently up his nose. Most of the Breakers he’d known in Valbeck had been left hanging from gibbets after the uprising, and the rest would be nursing deep grudges. Most of the Burners had been halfway mad to begin with. What he’d been doing for a living would not be at all popular in those quarters. Calling it labour relations wouldn’t fool anyone who’d lived in a cellar. “Maybe there’s still some folk in Valbeck who could put me on the right track…”
“All I ask is that you try.”
“My best, like always.” Meaning his worst, like always. It was his turn to look her in the eye. “Just promise me you’ll look after Liddy and May, while I’m gone.” And he offered her his hand.
Her grip was surprisingly strong. Brought a twinge to his aching knuckles. “As if they were my family.”
“You’re not even staying for dinner?” asked Liddy. She looked worried. They both did.
“Got to leave tonight,” said Broad, tossing a few things in a bag. “It’s urgent.”
“Where are you going?”
“Midderland.” He was getting a lot better at lying than he used to be. You have to come at it sideways. Just enough truth to answer the question. Not enough to actually tell ’em anything. If he’d said Valbeck, they’d probably have set to crying. Maybe he would’ve himself.
May watched him from the doorway, one hand fiddling with the silver necklace she wore these days. “It’s nothing dangerous, is it?”
“Working for a fine lady, like you always say. How dangerous could it be?” And he smiled at May, and she smiled back. Either he was getting a lot better at lying, or they just wanted to believe him. He hid it with a joke. “And don’t spend too much time with Zuri’s brother Rabik, I’ve seen how the two o’ you grin at each other.”
“Shut up, Da!” Giving him a shove and blushing at the same time.
He held them both close near the doorway. When he’d gone away to Styria, he’d barely even said goodbye. So keen to leave. Now he clung on tight. Too tight, maybe.
Liddy looked up at him as they broke apart. “You won’t be long, will you, Gunnar?”
“No, I won’t be long.” And he threw the bag over his shoulder. He’d always thought of himself as honest to a fault. Blunt as a hammer, ask anyone. But it occurred to him then he’d started speaking that private language with everyone. Saying one thing and meaning another. Only Liddy and May weren’t in on it. “Be back before you know it,” he said, and shut the door.
But he wondered if he would be. He wondered if he’d ever be back.
Old Friends
“You know you’re more beautiful than ever.”
Savine looked sideways at him, one long-lashed eye showing under the brim of her hat, rocking gently with the movement of her horse. “Are you flattering me, Your Grace?”
“I’m doing my bloody best,” said Leo. She rode well. What didn’t she do well? Perched elegantly side-saddle with her whip-hand resting on the slight swell of her belly, steering her horse with the same effortless confidence she steered everything else. But he still worried. “Sure you don’t want to go in the carriage, though?”
“In the jungles of Yashtavit, women hunt while eight months pregnant. Up in the North, they work in the fields until they give birth. Honestly, it’s much the same these days for the factory girls in Adua. A little ride will do no harm.”
“I reckon if a factory girl, a Northern peasant or a dusky huntress was offered a break in a carriage, they’d likely take it.”
“By all means, you can sit in it, then.” And she tapped her horse’s flank with her crop and moved ahead.
Perhaps there’d been a part of him that had hoped the rebellion would never happen. That it would come to nothing more than after-dinner bluster with the fellows from the Open Council. A
part that had looked forward to Savine finding out, so she could give an indulgent sigh, and pat the back of his hand, and put a sensible stop to the whole business.
But to his amazement, she’d pounced on the scheme with the total lack of doubt she brought to everything and applied all her formidable powers to making it not only a reality, but a success.
He felt hugely excited, of course. They were on a grand adventure, of course. And doing the right thing, of course. It was just that he also, sometimes, in quiet moments, felt strangely horrified. But there was no way back now. He’d look an utter fool. And once Savine got her teeth into a thing, it was happening, and that was all there was to it.
He caught her up, leaving their guards and servants behind. “By the dead, I’m glad you came.”
“I’ve always wanted to see the North.”
“So you’ve come for the sights? Not to make sure I don’t do something reckless?”
“I can do two things at once.” That one eye slipped across to him, and she nudged her mount closer to speak softly. “This is important. We need allies.”
“I know how Northmen think,” said Leo. “I grew up with them.”
“Of course. These are your friends. I am only here to help. Haven’t I been a help to you in Ostenhorm?”
“You’ve been a bloody marvel in Ostenhorm.” In fact, she’d proved so good at running the governing meetings that he’d stopped attending altogether. He was still lord and master and had the last word, as she was always telling him. But why use it when her words sounded so damn good? “I do worry about my mother, though—”
“There’s no need.”
“She’ll see Jurand drilling the men, raising more, she’s no fool—”
“Clever people are prone to believe what they want to, Leo, just like everyone else. What your mother wants most in the world is to think the best of you.”
Leo blinked. “Oh.”
“I told her you are growing up and taking your responsibilities seriously, and the new companies are all part of your plan for lasting peace. You are raising more soldiers because Northmen only respect force. Our talks with Stour will go that much better if he knows we are well armed. She was full of praise for your strategy.”
The Trouble with Peace Page 27