by Trish Mercer
Mahrree was hanging the laundry out on the line in the back garden when she saw Grandpy Neeks jogging down the main fort road. She waved to him, and he cut down the alley.
“Mrs. Shin,” he nodded as he approached.
“And where are you off to on this beautiful afternoon?”
“Off to be rescued, of course!” He grinned playfully, his gnarled face adding even more distinctive wrinkles.
Mahrree knew he had forgiven her for “softening” the soldiers earlier in the week. Rumors had got back to her—via her mother, naturally—that a few older single women thought the “poor” master sergeant looked like he needed some fattening up and maybe even some tender loving care, and would Mahrree know if he were available? Until Mahrree could be sure of just how old Grandpy Neeks was, she didn’t know which of the names to pass along to him. Perrin’s claim that Grandpy was only in his early forties seemed preposterous. And his further claim that he would not become involved in Grandpy’s potential love life—“So don’t you dare think of asking me, Mahrree!”—was also disappointing.
But yesterday Mahrree mentioned to Grandpy in passing that a few Edge women were interested in him, especially one who he helped with a stubborn cat in a tree on Get to Know Your Friendly Soldiers Day.
Grandpy had looked pleasantly startled by that, then said, “Well, since she reminded me so much of my own dear grandmother—”
Mahrree had been too stunned at that response to know how to proceed with suggesting he pay her a visit. Perhaps she wasn’t cut out for making matches. But at least Grandpy was smiling at her again.
“I heard you’re the first victim, and I can hardly wait,” Mahrree chuckled. “So who’s running the first Race to Edge?”
Grandpy raised his eyebrows. “Zenos got you calling it that too?”
“I got him calling it that! Perrin wouldn’t come up with anything more interesting, so I named it myself.”
Grandpy grinned. “Well, the whole fort is calling Stage Two ‘The Race’ now, much to the major’s disapproval.”
“Zenos is a good gossip,” Mahrree nodded in approval. “And I thought the soldiers might enjoy getting to know every corner of Edge if they realized it was a race. Get egos involved, and I’ve discovered men will do just about anything.”
“Indeed they do,” Neeks laughed. “Race starts in about half an hour, so sit on your front porch with the little ones and enjoy the chaos.”
“How many is he starting with?” Mahrree asked.
“Three pairs today, with himself, Karna, and Gizzada following them on horseback. You know how the major likes to shout his little bits of encouragement to the men,” said Neeks soberly but with a twinkle in his eyes.
Mahrree grinned. “Which means if any of the men get lost he’ll be hoarse with screaming at them by the time they find and ‘rescue’ you.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it. I made the first location exceptionally confusing, so I fully expect to see at least two veins bulging on his neck. No one does angry quite like a Shin,” Neeks drawled with devious anticipation. “Have a good afternoon, Mrs. Shin!” And he continued his jog into Edge.
Mahrree rubbed her face. “Ooh, boy. Hope Perrin gets it all out of him by the time he comes home tonight.”
Half an hour later Mahrree sat eagerly on her front porch, with Jaytsy and Peto fresh from their naps, and cheered as the first racers ran past her house. Perrin, on horseback, followed closely and was already shouting.
Mrs. Hersh, pulling weeds out of her garden, and subtly tossing them over into the Shins’ overgrown yard, looked up in alarm.
“An attack?” she called over to Mahrree.
“No,” Mahrree chuckled. “It’s Stage Two—the Race to Edge? It’s been announced at the amphitheater for the past few days.”
Mrs. Hersh nodded slowly as if she just remembered.
Another two soldiers ran past, with Karna following them and yelling.
“Oh, my,” Mrs. Hersh mumbled.
Mahrree giggled to herself. “I wonder how much of Edge forgot? I suppose they’ll remember just as quickly.”
---
That night when Perrin came home, he was all smiles.
“It went that well?” Mahrree said.
“Not exactly,” he scowled briefly. “But in hindsight, it was amusing.”
“I saw Grandpy on his way to the village. He said he made the first location purposefully confusing.”
Perrin grinned. “He sent the soldiers to find the tailor’s.”
“Oh,” Mahrree began to chuckle. “Which one?”
“That’s when it got interesting,” Perrin laughed. “All six of them ran straight for the tailor shop where they do alterations for the army. But no Master Sergeant.”
“Oh no . . .”
“So after terrifying the customers in the shop by running around frantically to find Neeks, they all rushed out and into the next tailor shop, filled with women.”
Mahrree burst out laughing.
“After several screams,” Perrin continued, chuckling, “the six of them ran out of that shop—”
“I’m guessing no one in Edge remembered about the race today?”
“None that I could tell. The market was in full panic!”
“And you were there, on horseback, screaming at the soldiers, right?”
“Of course I was!” Perrin exclaimed. “It was embarrassing! The soldiers started hysterically running into every shop, looking under every cart, and one even looked under a hat on display as if Neeks could be hiding under it.”
Mahrree was laughing so hard she was wiping tears off her face. “So where was he?”
“Tayler’s Sweet Shop. He was sucking on his second syrup drop and sitting on a stool in the middle of the shop by the time the soldiers finally found him. I’ll tell you, he has the head-shaking-in-disappointment motion down to an art form.”
“I should have followed the soldiers!” Mahrree laughed. “At least it wasn’t Gizzada in there, or the sweet shop would have been cleaned out. So when’s the second Race to Edge?”
“Day after tomorrow. And Magistrate Cockalorum better be ready. I already sent him a message that he’s going to be ‘saved.’”
Two days later all of Edge was ready. Mahrree wasn’t the only one sitting on her porch with her children; the whole neighborhood was cheering on the runners as they ran through Edge on their way to the south of the village, Perrin and Karna on horseback following the chase and shouting.
Mahrree knew the best new entertainment had just arrived in Edge. Soon everyone else would catch on, too. And by the end of the week, they had.
Perrin came home for dinner and announced, “Now we’re getting requests for soldiers to run through family parties, surprise someone for their birthday, or terrify a relative visiting from somewhere else!” He tried to say it with exasperation, but his eyes were shining.
“Well done again, Major!” Mahrree grinned and kissed him. “Although, I do have a question about a certain ‘home invasion’ two of my After School Care students told me about?”
Perrin chuckled. “Yes, that. It seems that to save some time, two soldiers ran through a house, even stealing a turkey leg in the process and tracking mud from the back door to the front. Mrs. Peerce was not amused when she came up to the fort to complain.”
“But her sons were. Now all of the boys want to be on your routes. And really, it might be a good idea to accommodate some of those requests,” she hinted. “Remind the citizens the soldiers are there for them?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps, perhaps. Even if they shout the wrong directions at times, the villagers have been good about the soldiers jumping over their fences and running through their gardens. So far Corporal Zenos has won the three races he’s run. Every soldier wants a chance at either being his partner or beating him.”
“Sounds like a good motivational tool, Major,” she decided. “As long as there’s no wagering.”
“Only bragging rights. And I never realized a m
an could be so humble in bragging. Shem’s an unusual person.”
Mahrree wrapped her arms around him. “And so are you, Major Shin. So one more success?”
He nodded. “And then I think Edge just might finally be as safe as I can make it. Aside from building a massive stockade fence around it.”
---
Two men sat in a dark room of an unlit building.
“Races?” Mal asked. “Races!”
Brisack nodded. “Quite progress—uh, I mean, innovative, don’t you think? Even new soldiers can find their way around with his labeling system. I wonder that no one thought of this before. Perhaps the intensity of the raids has pushed him to such tactics.”
“Are you suggesting that we’ve caused this?” Mal bristled.
Brisack shrugged with a smile. “I suppose we have. He’s become quite the aggressive bear, hasn’t he?”
“But bears don’t innovate! They fight! They designate territories—”
“Isn’t that what he’s doing? Improving the army’s ability to fight? Marking his territory?”
Mal groaned in frustration. “He’s making things very difficult. This was completely unanticipated!”
Brisack waved that off. “So then we innovate and counter his movements. It’s like a game of dices. He makes a call, we make another, he places a bet, we place another, then we see who really rolls the best numbers. That’s all.”
“How can you be so casual about this?” Mal seethed. “Don’t you see what he’s doing?”
“Yes. He’s forcing us to be progressive, too. I must say, he’s making all of this far more interesting, isn’t he?” Brisack said, a bit too cheerily.
“He’s ruining everything!” the old man shouted. “He cannot be allowed to succeed, or he puts in peril all that we are attempting to do! Bears don’t innovate!”
“Perhaps,” Brisack ventured, “Shin really isn’t a bear. Maybe he’s merely a clever man up to the challenge.”
“NO, HE’S NOT!” Mal bellowed. “And I want him STOPPED!”
Suddenly a stream of profanities erupted from the Chairman. “Slagging Shin! Son of a Sow! What the slag have you done?”
Brisack blinked in mild shock. Normally “slag” was the throw-away bits left over from smelting, except in the way the army said it, their tone turning it into foulest word in the world, and one rarely uttered.
As for son of a sow? Oh, that was just every day muttering for Mal.
But what surprised the good doctor even more was Mal’s excessive fury.
“The problem is . . .?” Brisack ventured.
“Do you realize what he’s done?” Mal spat.
Brisack sighed. “Tell me.”
“He’s undone US! Think about it—if his little procedure for recording the names of all the residents goes throughout the entire world, and soldiers can race to a person’s house within minutes . . .”
Brisack slowly nodded. “Ah, I see. A few people that turn up missing may actually be somewhere else doing something else—for us. Interesting,” he mused. “I suppose this is why most people don’t play dices against themselves. Gets hard to remember which side you really want to win.”
“We win!” Mal shouted, then looked perplexed. “I mean, ‘we’ being—wait . . .”
The good doctor smirked. “One side will always win, and the other always lose. Which half of you do you want to succeed?”
Mal exhaled loudly and started a quiet monologue consisting mostly of words beginning with, as far as Brisack could discern, the letter “s.” “SlaggingstupidsonsofsowsShins—”
Brisack let him natter on like a mad old woman before he cleared his throat. “Whenever you’re ready, I may have a solution.”
Mal shut right up.
“You realize that Shin’s recording procedure will only fly in villages that were attacked,” Brisack pointed out. “After terror, the people are willing to forfeit all kinds of freedoms to ensure their security. That’s something we may want to remember, by the way. But everyone else will see this as a further intrusion of the forts, especially when they see how quickly a soldier can be standing at their door.”
“I’m listening,” Mal said, hope lighting in his eyes.
“The world is still conflicted, grateful the forts are helping, but also wary of their magistrates and enforcement men losing power. Something like this happened before, back with Querul the First.”
Mal’s eyes grew bigger. “Exactly! Querul instituted a registration program when the first Guarders were running away! Everyone had to tell him where they moved to, and into what house, so that he could track families and bring the Guarders to justice! HA!” he boomed. “We can knock this down by saying Perrin’s resorting to Querul-like tendencies!” He clapped his hands loudly and rubbed them together. “Perfect!”
Brisack massaged his chin thoughtfully. “However, there’s some merit to knowing the names of people in each house. In the past, Gadiman occasionally had problems finding out exactly where someone lived. The messenger services don’t even know where most people live. Using Perrin’s system, we’d have ready-made maps of every single village in the world.”
Mal held up a finger and paused, as if stuck in thought.
The good doctor tried not to smirk at his companion’s internal quandary. Perhaps Mal was trying to figure out which side—the Administrators or the Guarders—should win this toss of the dices.
A smile formed on Mal’s face. He’d made a decision as to this round’s winner. “Record only the last names. That will make the forts feel better, knowing who lives where. But no first names or the number of people in a household. That should keep the citizens from feeling we’re going too far.”
Brisack nodded back. Both sides were going to win. That was always the way Mal played things—until he won. He never gave up. If he sensed he was losing at something—be it an argument or a government—he’d keep pushing and going and changing the rules until he was winning again. Nicko Mal had to win. There was nothing else for him in the world, except to possess it all. He saw himself as a high-minded and intelligent leader, doing the world a service by demonstrating how animal-like it was and studying its responses.
But that was all a cover.
Because Mal, at his heart, was simply the most competitive man in the world. Everything he ever did was about proving he was better than anyone else. It was childish, really, Brisack considered as Mal begin to blather on about how he was turning the tables on Perrin Shin’s so-called brilliant ideas. The doctor wondered if, as a boy, Nicko had been on the small side, abrasive with others, but arguably the smartest boy in the school. And, despite his excellence, he was overshadowed by the tall, handsome, charming boy that every peer and teacher couldn’t help but admire.
That would explain a lot, Brisack decided as Mal ranted about the arrogance of army officers. It wasn’t too difficult to figure out who Mal saw—and hated—as Mr. Popularity.
People think competition it a good thing, Brisack mulled as Mal now stood up and gestured wildly about how he would always prevail, no matter what tactic Shin threw at him. But at what point does friendly competition develop into maniacal despotism?
Maybe, Brisack decided, that’s like asking when tumbling pups become ravaging wolves.
“When’s our man going in?!” Mal barked, shaking Brisack from his thoughts.
“With the fifty new soldiers,” Brisack sighed. “Later this week. He’ll find our Quiet Man, discover what he knows, and guarantee that Shin fails—I promise you.”
---
Barker didn’t even need bacon. He saw the man and was over the fence in less than a minute.
“Well done, well done. Something new tonight. Alongside.”
---
Hycymum had been very busy for weeks sewing constantly and boasting to her friends that the security of Edge rested squarely on her shoulders. Her son-in-law needed her talents, and she couldn’t be bothered with anything else until her duty to the Army of Idumea
was completed.
One afternoon Perrin came home from the fort for midday meal, annoyed. “If one more of your mother’s sewing friends ambushes me again, I may have to issue a mandate that no women over forty years of age is allowed to talk to me.”
“Why? What do they want?” Mahrree asked.
“To help secure Edge! What in the world is your mother saying?”
Mahrree laughed. “I’m not sure, but she said she’ll be done at the end of the week with your project.”
“Good,” Perrin said, calming down. “We’ll test them early next week, then.”
“I’m rather excited!”
“Well, I was too, but not anymore,” Perrin grumbled. “The first men to test the system have already been decided.”
“Who?”
Perrin groaned.
“You?” Mahrree squealed. “It’s about time. What happened?”
Through clenched teeth he said, “Zenos happened.”
Mahrree didn’t get to hear anything more about that until Shem came by later that afternoon with the message that Perrin would be home late again. That’s when Mahrree found out what occurred at the fort that morning.
“He had no choice,” Shem grinned at her. “He had to accept. I know you’ve wanted to watch him run, so I set him up.”
“Shem, once again you’ve solidified your status as my favorite soldier. So how did you do it?”
“Wrestling,” Shem said, twisting his own muscular neck as if it were still kinked. “You know how he likes to motivate us by insisting that no one is stronger, tougher or faster than him? Well, he brought fifty of us to the training arena for a sparring challenge, and I stepped up to be the first to take him on.”
Mahrree shook her head. “I’ve told you—take him on after the eighth man. That’s when he starts to get tired, and someone as large as you will have a fair chance at beating him.”
“I didn’t want to beat him. Although I was close.” He sighed wistfully. “This close . . . then, there I was again, flat on my back staring up into that cocky grin of his. But I knew I had him. I stood up, looked him in the eyes, and said, ‘You know, sir, there’s one way to prove you really are the strongest soldier. And I find it interesting that of all the soldiers in the fort, you’re the only one who has yet to participate in it.’”
Mahrree grinned and clapped her hands. “Perfect, Shem!”
“Well, he folded his arms and gave me that haughty look of his. ‘What are you going on about, Zenos?’”
His impersonation was good enough that Mahrree snorted.
“‘I’m talking about the Races to Edge, sir,’ I told him. ‘Even Captain Karna has run in two of them, but you never leave your horse.’ I even folded my arms to try to look as intimidating as him. So he raised that angry eyebrow of his and said, ‘I’m on a horse so I can track progress, Corporal, and make sure none of you cheat.’ So I told him, ‘Oh, I don’t think that’s the entire reason, sir. I think you know you’d lose.’”
Mahrree covered her mouth briefly before she said, “Oh Shem, you’re the bravest man in the fort!”
He shrugged modestly. “About half the soldiers took several large steps backward at that point. So then the major glared at me and said, ‘I don’t race you soldiers because I don’t want to humiliate you. No one’s faster than me, Zenos. You know that.’”
Mahrree kept giggling.
“That’s when the ‘oohs,’ began, and the rest of the men took a large step backward. So I looked your husband in the eye and said, ‘Check the race postings, sir. No one can beat me. I think I’m ready for you, so I challenge you to a race. No teams, just you against me. We’ll see who the strongest soldier really is.’ What else could he do?”
Mahrree burst out laughing. “Brilliant!”
Shem laughed too. “Then he said it’d be his pleasure to humiliate me.”
“He’s sure he’ll humiliate you?” Mahrree rubbed her hands together. “Ooh, I can hardly wait.”
Shem chuckled. “I kind of hope he’s behind me, chasing. Even though it’s been several weeks since he accused me of being a Guarder, Mahrree, he sometimes still scares me near to death.”
---
Perrin passed several carpenters and nodded amiably as they waved to him. His mother-in-law wasn’t the only person busy on his latest project. He stepped into the shadow blocking the afternoon sun, looked up, and grinned. Now that they were nearing completion, his latest ideas looked even grander and more imposing than when he first sketched out their dimensions late one night in his study.
For the past several weeks a small army of lumberjacks, carpenters, and craftsmen had been building twelve tall, covered towers just like this one in strategic locations in Edge. Each was a wooden structure rising higher than any surrounding trees, and capable of holding two men who could hoist signal banners during the day or light a fire in a metal cauldron on the roof for nighttime warnings. The furthest tower was a quarter of a mile south of Edge, along the main road to Mountseen and Idumea. Additional towers surrounded the village and several were within, including one at the center of the village green. With the addition of fifty soldiers that were coming from Idumea, Perrin had calculated there would be more than enough men to operate the towers day and night.
The views from the top were remarkable. At first the carpenters were frightened to build to such a height, until Major Shin took all of them to his command tower to show them that the air was still as breathable as it was on the ground.
Within days of the first towers reaching their final height, he had the opposite problem—keeping people off of them. Everyone wanted to see how well their back gardens could be viewed, and how much of their neighbors they could spy on. It didn’t matter that the ladders going up through the middle weren’t yet complete; daring Edgers simply climbed up the lattice work on the side, just as the builders had done.
Perrin had to implement a strict rule: only workers allowed on the towers, and when they were completed, only the soldiers assigned to them. Security of Edge, specially trained men, potential hazards to the citizens, and all that. Since it came from the major, the man who protected Edge so well that the only deaths from the recent raid were those that most directly affected him, Edgers obeyed. Usually.
Perrin held his breath as the ladder in the middle was heaved into place by several burly men, to the cheers of another dozen or so citizens watching the progress. Tomorrow each tower, nearly completed, would also be equipped with Hycymum’s creations which he was on his way to inspect: long banners that could be raised in a moment’s notice to signal the fort.
Red banners would mean Guarder activity had been spotted; yellow, fire; blue, official visitors were on the way; and orange, the chief of enforcement requested backup assistance.
Perrin imagined the orange one would be going up most frequently since a couple of enforcement officers revealed to him they were losing a bit of confidence in the chief, and could they sign up to be soldiers?
The whine of an eighteen-year-old broke into his admiration of his creation. “Are you sure three carts are necessary, sir?” asked one of the privates waiting behind him, pulling a wooden cart.
The other two privates, also manning the small wagons usually pulled by mules, looked at him with warning in their eyes. It was rare that anyone questioned the judgment of Major Shin.
But fortunately for the new soldier, the major was in an excellent mood. Edge was becoming more secure every day and he was finding it easy to smile again. “Believe me, Private—cloth can weigh a great deal. Don’t worry. This is really quite an easy assignment. But if you prefer, we need some latrines dug by each of the towers to service the men working there . . .”
“No, sir. I’m sorry, sir. This assignment is just fine.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you feel that way.”
A few moments later they arrived in front of Hycymum Peto’s house, and Perrin groaned. He’d been dreading the assignment more than his three privates. He
knew she’d make this complicated.
“And there they are!” his mother-in-law squealed as the crowd of neighbors turned and applauded. “And you know what an event like this calls for, right Perrin? Cake!”
“No, Mother Peto,” he rubbed his forehead and mumbled, because he knew she’d never listen to him, “it does not call for cake.”
But already the three young privates had happily abandoned their carts and were being escorted to a table by Hycymum’s gray-haired friends.
“No, no, no,” Perrin cringed, “first we need to—”
“Oh, Perrin, look at them—so pale and skinny!”
Perrin squinted at the three soldiers—each a different hue of brown, and two of them a bit on the hefty side—and wondered if Hycymum needed her eyes examined.
“Let them have some cake, first,” she said, patting his arm. “It’s your favorite, by the way,” she sing-songed at him. “And I won’t tell Mahrree you had dessert before dinner.”
It really would have appeared tyrannical to drag the three soldiers away from the cake table in front of the crowd of sixty people enjoying the impromptu afternoon party. Instead, Perrin sighed and walked into his mother-in-law’s house to inspect the folded banners stacked in tall piles throughout her gathering room.
Once he did, he was glad he was alone.
“Since when did I request black? White? Green . . . oh, and here’s purple. Of course. So cheery, isn’t it,” he grumbled, “to announce the first flowers of the season perhaps? This is so ridiculo—”
He stopped, stunned as he discovered the next unasked-for banner color.
“Oh, she can’t be serious,” and he counted the folds. “Twelve. She actually expects me to . . . Mahrree, where are you?”
“So what do you think?” he heard his mother-in-law’s voice ringing behind him.
“These,” he pointed to the stacks of red, blue, orange, and yellow he had requested, “look perfect. Strong, lightweight cloth that will easily catch the breeze, and as long and wide as we discussed. The Army of Idumea and I formally thank you, Mrs. Peto. But Mother Peto, this—this?!”
“Oh, there’s always new emergencies coming up, aren’t there?” She said as she came over to straighten a stack of additional banners. “I decided to anticipate the need and make you extra colors now.”
“But, honestly, Mother Peto, this one?” He held up the shocking banner. It unfurled before him, the tapered end unrolling on the ground to reveal its full twenty foot length. He flopped the wide end over his shoulder and held out the banner.
“Pink? With dark pink stripes, no less?” He shook it at her. “What kind of emergency in the world would require a pink striped banner? Attacking flower sellers?! Belligerent out-of-work jesters?!”
Hycymum put her hands on her full hips. “Or the arrival of speciak entertainment at the amphitheater? Or new goods at the market from Idumea? Perrin, I got that cloth at a very good price. You’ll see that on the bill. And it hangs so lovely from a pole—”
“PINK?!”
“Perrin, I’m beginning to suspect you don’t like the pink.”
“I didn’t ask for this!” he tried to keep his bellow down.
Hycymum blinked at him. “But surely you’ll think of some use for it. Look at the dye job. Really quite lovely.”
Perrin opened his mouth to give his opinion of said dye job when he saw his three privates come into the gathering room, finishing off their bits of cake. They stopped when they saw their commander with the pink striped banner cascading in front of him.
“It is lovely, sir,” one of them said bravely. “Complements your black hair.”
All three soldiers snorted.
The only thing that preserved their lives at that moment was the arrival of Hycymum’s sewing friends coming to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ over the banners, and to finger the pink striped one that Perrin couldn’t seem to find a way to put back on the pile.
Nearly an hour later, as the privates trudged with their heavy carts into the compound of the fort, Major Shin gestured to Captain Karna.
“In these carts you’ll find the four colors of banners we requested, as well as a few others that can be put into storage. But at the very bottom of that cart,” he pointed to the offensive one, “You’ll find a color of banner for which I will never, ever find a use. Dispose of those discretely.”
“And how will I know which banners those are?”
“You’ll know,” Perrin said heavily.
---
Lieutenant Heth brushed down his horse in the stable, and couldn’t help but smile. He hadn’t owned a horse in years, and the dappled gray was steady and strong. Everything was shaping up exactly as he had dreamed. His old guest bedroom was the same as he left it years ago, and the food was even better than he remembered.
Or maybe it was because after so much dormitory food—each meal with an oddly persistent gray tinge to it—anything else tasted like a Harvest Day Feast.
Even his new companion was tolerable, another newly graduated lieutenant with extra training provided by Administrator Gadiman.
That was the only downside—the ever hovering presence of Gadiman. All training was done at night, and Heth wondered if the Administrator ever slept. Maybe he didn’t, which would explain his pasty skin, bloodshot eyes, and permanent sneer.
But he could put up with Gadiman, because of what was coming next. Using Lieutenant Walickiah was Brisack’s idea, but with Mal counting on his failure, there would be Heth.
And then, there would be everything else.
Heth didn’t notice the scruffy-looking man wheeling in the bales of hay until he came up next to him and patted the mare on her flanks. “Nice looking animal. Must have come from the Stables at Pools. Of course, only the best for Mal’s officers. Or,” he added in a whisper, “for the son of a king.”
Heth stopped in mid-brushing and looked over to the man next to him. “Dormin!” he gasped at his younger brother who he hadn’t seen in over a year.
“Shh,” Dormin whispered. “Just like you I’ve changed my name. Call me . . . Ted.”
“Ted?”
“Took me a while to find you again. In King Oren’s former mansion? Whew. This is plucky. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I have a feeling you don’t know all the rules.”
“Ted?”
“Obviously Mal knows who you are and placed you here. But for what reasons, I can’t quite fathom. Intriguing, though. How long do you plan to stay here?”
“Ted!”
“Yes, Ted. What, it’s better than Heth. Is that a first or last name, anyway?”
“What are you doing here?” Heth finally hissed. He looked frantically around, but the other stable hands were too busy with their work to think anything of a lieutenant talking with the straw man.
“I’ve come to say good-bye,” Dormin-Ted whispered. “At first I wasn’t sure why, but now seeing you in that uniform and in these stables—well, I think it’s obvious.”
“When I saw you last you said I’d never see you again. Come to break your promise, Doorknob Ted?” Heth was recovering from his shock.
Dormin didn’t show any reaction to the jab. “Have you given any thought to what I talked to you about? The Writings?”
Heth rolled his eyes. “Doorgirl, of course not. So many better things to do.” He straightened his uniform jacket proudly.
Dormin didn’t even look at it. “And what’re you going to do? Take back our old mansion?”
“I’m not going to take it, Doormouse; it’s going to be given to me.”
“Given,” Dormin repeated calmly. “Why?”
Heth chuckled quietly. “Wouldn’t you like to know. But you won’t, until you hear about it, and then it will be too late, and not one of those rooms will be for you, Door-for-brains!”
His brother nodded slowly. “None of those rooms will be for you, either, Heth. I have an idea of what you’re about to do, and I promise—it will fail. I’ll neve
r see you again because you’ll be dead.”
Heth scoffed. “You’re always been so serious and dull. And you have no idea what I’m about to do.”
Dormin sighed. “Please, Sonoforen, change your mind. It’s not too late. I know of things you simply can’t imagine! Everyone here thinks they know, but . . . well, take this for instance. Sonoforen, what color is the sky?”
Heth rolled his eyes. “Blue!”
“You didn’t even look, did you? You just assumed you know, but did you actually look at it?”
With a dramatic sigh, Heth glanced out the open stable doors to see the tiny patch of sky available. “See? Blue. Right there.”
Dormin pressed his lips together. “That’s precisely right, isn’t it? See the part that you want to see, assume it applies to everything else, and stop thinking. But it’s all wrong, Sonoforen,” he whispered. “So much is wrong! Please, come with me, and let me show you—”
“The door, Dorminhead!” Heth said, gesturing to the stable exit. “I’ve had enough, and I’m due in for dinner soon.”
“You’re sloppy, and it’ll kill you,” Dormin warned in a low voice. “The only way for you to have the High General’s mansion is if there’s no more High General.”
Heth swallowed, realizing that as vague as he thought he was, he obviously wasn’t enough.
“I’ll miss you, Sonoforen,” Dormin said bleakly. “I’m not sure why, though. Maybe I’ll miss the relationship we could’ve had. If only you’d come with me, but . . . I suppose not. Good-bye, then, Lieutenant Heth.”
Heth stared after him as slinked out of the stables.
“Dead-head Ted!” he shouted, but Dormin didn’t even turn around as he pushed the empty straw cart away.
---
“You’re quiet for once,” Lieutenant Xat commented as he and Heth ate their dinners in an anteroom to the main dining hall.
Mal always ate alone, poring over pages of notes that were spread over the kings’ massive banquet table. His guards ate at small tables in attached rooms with a clear view of the Chairman constantly at work. Securing, but not interfering.
“Sorry,” Heth said absent-mindedly cutting his steak into small pieces in the proper manner of a future king. “Only a little distracted.”
It was the flash of motion that he saw out of the corner of his eye that saved his hand. He withdrew it nearly too late as Xat’s fork came down on it.
“What’s that for?” Heth exclaimed as he examined his nearly-tined hand. There was a slight scratch mark on it, and a thin line of blood where the fork caught him.
“That’s what happens to the distracted!” Xat pointed his fork at Heth’s hand. “Failure! You’re lucky you have such fast reflexes. But I don’t want to narrowly escape death, Heth. I plan to succeed where no one else has, and if I don’t think you’ll be the best partner, I’ll tell Gadiman tonight.”
Heth nodded, grudgingly apologetic. “You’re right, you’re right. I’ll be more focused.”
“Completely focused,” Xat emphasized. “You’ll not ruin this for me.”
“Nor for me,” Heth said with a solid glare.
“So what is it?” Xat asked, stabbing his steak with his fork and tearing off a piece with his teeth. “As your partner, I should know everything in order to keep you centered on our mission,” he garbled.
Heth grumbled. “Just had an unexpected visitor this afternoon.”
“From your past?” Xat tore off another chunk of meat.
“Yes. Someone I thought was gone.”
“We’re to eliminate all connections with the past, remember?” Xat chewed noisily.
“I had, but his person found me, not the other way around.”
“Uh-oh,” Xat sneered as he swallowed. “How much did you owe him?”
Heth paused, trying to think of how to avoid discussing his brother. Dormin had seemed different. And once again, Heth had been more interested in insulting him than in finding out anything about him. It was obvious Mal couldn’t use him, but the Chairman wouldn’t believe that. Besides, if Mal used Dormin, that’d be competition for his mansion, and the last person in the world Heth would share that mansion with was his brother. He’d sooner allow the Shin family to move in, if any of them survived.
“Four slips of silver,” Heth eventually said. “He forgot I repaid him last year.”
“They always do,” Xat said, shoving the rest of his steak in his mouth. “Anything else?” he tried to say without dropping bits of meat.
“Nope. He’s gone. Especially when I showed him the only silver I’d give him was my long knife.”
Xat nodded in approval. “Dying to use it, aren’t you?”
“That I am,” Heth said, stabbing his steak.
Chapter 17 ~ “That’s part of his unpredictability.”