Inversions

18. THE BODYGUARD

The city of Niarje is conventionally supposed to lie six days’ ride from Crough, the capital of Tassasen. The Protector and his company of fresh troops arrived there in four, and were appropriately tired after their long days in the saddle. It was decided they would rest in the city while they waited for the heavy artillery pieces and siege engines to catch up with them, and for fresh word from the war in Ladenscion to arrive. That word soon appeared in the form of coded messages from Duke Ralboute, and was not good.

The barons’ forces were proving far better trained, more comprehensively equipped and reliably supplied than had been anticipated. Cities would not quickly be starved into submission. Fresh defences encircled almost all of them. The troops manning those defences were not the usual rabble but rather gave every indication of having been drilled to the highest standard. Partisan forces harried the Protectorate’s supply lines, sacking camps, ambushing wagon trains, taking weapons meant to be directed at them for their own use and forcing troops needed at the front to attach themselves to each of the supply caravans. General Ralboute had himself nearly been killed or captured in a daring night raid which had issued from the besieged city of Zhirt. Only luck and some desperate hand-to-hand fighting had prevented disaster. The general himself had had to draw sword and was within one defending aide of having to join the fray.

We are told that one of the situations a soldier craves to engineer for his enemy, and dreads being caught in himself, is that of the pincer movement. So it can only be imagined what UrLeyn felt when he was caught in just such a plight in Niarje, not by the attack of enemy troops, but by information. The intelligence that the war in Ladenscion was going so ill arrived just half a day before news came from the opposite direction that was, if anything, even worse, and also concerned illness.

UrLeyn seemed to shrink in on himself. His hand holding the letter fell, and the letter itself fluttered to the ground.

He sat down heavily in his seat at the head of the dining table in the old Ducal mansion in the centre of Niarje. DeWar, standing just behind UrLeyn’s seat, stooped and picked up the letter. He set it, folded closed, by UrLeyn’s plate.

“Sir?” asked Doctor BreDelle. The Protector’s other companions, all army officers, looked on, concerned.

“The boy,” UrLeyn said quietly to the doctor. “I knew I should not have left him, or should have had you stay with him, Doctor…”

BreDelle stared at him for a moment. “How poorly is he?”

“At death’s door,” UrLeyn said, looking down at the letter. He handed the letter to the doctor, who read it.

“Another seizure,” he said. BreDelle dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “Shall I return to Crough, sir? I can start at first light.”

The Protector stared down the table at nothing for a moment. Then he seemed to rouse himself. “Yes, Doctor. And I shall come too.” The Protector looked apologetically at the other officers. “Gentlemen,” he said, raising his voice and straightening his back. “I must ask you to continue on to Ladenscion without me, for the moment. My son is unwell. I hoped that I would contribute to our eventual victory as soon as you will, but I fear that even if I were to continue, my heart, and my attention, would still be drawn back to Crough. I regret that the glory will be yours, unless you contrive to extend the war. I will join you as soon as I can. Please forgive me, and indulge the fatherly weakness of a man who, at my age, should really be a grandfather.”

“Sir, of course!”

“I’m sure we all understand, sir.”

“We will do all we can to make you proud of us, sir.”

The protestations of support and understanding went on. DeWar looked round the young, eager, earnest faces of the junior noblemen gathered round the banqueting table with a feeling of dread and foreboding.

“Perrund? Is that you?”

“It is, young sir. I thought I’d come and sit by you.”

“Perrund, I can’t see.”

“It is very dark. The doctor thinks you will better recover kept away from the light.”

“I know, but still I cannot see. Hold my hand, will you?”

“You must not worry. Illness seems so terrible when you are young, but these things pass.”

“Will it?”

“Of course.”

“Will I be able to see again?”

“Of course you will. Have no fear.”

“But I am frightened.”

“Your uncle has written to your father, telling him of your condition. I imagine he will be coming home soon, in fact I’m sure of it. He will give you some of his strength. He will drive away all fear. You’ll see.”

“Oh no! But he should be at the war. I am bringing him home when he should be at the war, to win it for us.”

“Calm yourself, calm yourself. We could not keep your illness from him. What would he have thought of us? He will want to be sure that you are well. He will want to see you. I imagine he will bring Doctor BreDelle with him, too.”

“And Mr DeWar?”

“And Mr DeWar. Where your father goes, he follows.”

“I can’t remember what happened. What day is it?”

“It is the third of the old moon.”

“What happened? Did I start to shake as I did at the shadow-players’ show?”

“Yes. Your teacher said he thought you were trying to get out of learning mathematics when you fell off your seat. He ran to get the nurse and then Doctor AeSimil was sent for. He is doctor to your uncle RuLeuin and General YetAmidous and very good. Very nearly as good as Doctor BreDelle. He says you will be better, in good time.”

“Does he?”

“He does. And he seems a most honest and trustworthy soul.”

“Is he better than Doctor BreDelle?”

“Oh, Doctor BreDelle must be better, because he is your father’s doctor, and your father deserves to have the best, for the good of all of us.”

“Do you really think he will come back?”

“I am sure of it.”

“Will you tell me a story?”

“A story? I’m not sure I know any.”

“But everybody knows stories. Didn’t you used to be told stories when you were little?… Perrund?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m sure I was. Yes, I have a story.”

“Oh good… Perrund?”

“Yes. Well. Let me see. Once upon a time… once upon a time there was a little girl.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. She was rather an ugly child, and her parents did not like or care for her at all.”

“What was her name?”

“Her name? Her name was… Dawn.”

“Dawn. That’s a pretty name.”

“Yes. Unfortunately she was not very pretty, as I have said. She lived in a town she hated with parents she loathed. They made her do all sorts of things they thought she ought to do, which she hated, and they kept her locked up a lot of the time. They forced her to wear rags and sacking, they refused to buy her shoes for her feet or ribbons for her hair and they did not let her play with the other children. They never told her any stories at all.”

“Poor Dawn!”

“Yes, she was a poor thing, wasn’t she? She would cry herself to sleep most nights, and pray to the old gods or appeal to Providence to deliver her from such unhappiness. She wished that she could escape from her parents, but because they kept her locked up she could not. But then one day the fair came to town, with players and stages and tents and jugglers and acrobats and fire-breathers and knife-throwers and strong men and dwarves and people on stilts and all their servants and performing animals. Dawn was fascinated by the fair and wanted to see. it and be made happy by it, for she felt that she had no life at all where she was, but her parents hid her away. They did not want her to have fun watching all the wonderful acts and shows, and they were worried that if people saw that they had such an ugly child they would make fun of them and perhaps even tempt her to leave to become an exhibit in their freaks of nature show.”

“Was she really that ugly?”

“Perhaps not quite that ugly, but still they didn’t want her to be seen, so they hid her away in a secret place they had fashioned in their house. Poor Dawn cried and cried and cried. But what her parents did not know was that the people of the fair always sent some of their performers round the houses in the town, to do little acts of kindness, or to help out with chopping kindling, or to clean up a yard, so that people would feel beholden to them and go and see the fair. They did this in Dawn’s town, and of course her parents, being very mean, could not pass up the opportunity to have some work done for free.

“They invited the performers into their house and had them tidy it all up, though of course it was quite tidy already because Dawn had done most of the work. While they were cleaning the house, and even leaving little presents behind, for these were very kind and generous performers — a clown, I think, and a fire-breather and a knife-thrower — they heard poor Dawn crying in her secret prison, and they released her and made her happy by their antics, and were very kind to her. She felt appreciated and loved for the first time, and tears of joy rolled down her face. Her bad parents had hidden themselves in the cellar, and later on they ran away, embarrassed at having been so cruel to Dawn.

“The performers from the fair gave Dawn her life back. She even started to feel not so ugly, and was able to dress better than her parents had let her dress, and feel clean and good. Perhaps, she thought, she was not destined to be ugly and unhappy all her life, as she had imagined. Perhaps she was beautiful and her life would be full of happiness. Somehow just being with the performers made her feel pretty, and she started to realise that they had made her beautiful, that she had only been ugly because people had told her she was ugly and now she was not. It was like magic.

“Dawn decided that she wanted to join the fair and go with the performers, but they told her sadly that they could not let her do that because if they did then people might think that they were the sort of people who took little girls away from their families, and their good name would suffer. They told her she ought to stay and look for her parents. She saw the sense of what they were telling her, and because she felt strong and capable and alive and beautiful, she was able to wave goodbye to the fair when it left and all the kind performers went away to take their happiness and kindness to another town. And do you know what?”

“What?”

“She did find her parents, and they were nice and good to her for ever afterwards. She found a handsome young fellow, too, and married him and had lots of babies and they lived happily ever after. And, as well as all that, one day, she did catch up with the fair, and was able to join it and be part of it and try to think of a way to repay the performers for their earlier kindness.

“And that is the story of Dawn, an ugly, unhappy child who became beautiful and happy.”

“Hmm. That is quite a good story. I wonder if Mr DeWar has any more stories about Lavishia. They are a bit strange, but I think he means well. I think I ought to sleep now. I — oh!”

“Ah, I’m sorry.”

“What was that? Water? On my hand…”

“It was just a happy tear. It is such a happy story. It makes me cry. Oh, what are you—?”

“Yes, it tastes of salt.”

“Oh, you are a charmer, young Master Lattens, to lick a lady’s tears up so! Let go my hand. I must… There. That’s better. You sleep now. Your father will be here soon, I’m sure. I’ll send in the nurse to make sure you’re tucked in properly. Oh, do you need this? Is this your comforter?”

“Yes. Thank you, Perrund. Good night.”

“Good night.”

The palace concubine Yalde brought fruit and wine to the bath, where YetAmidous, RuLeuin and ZeSpiole floated in the milky waters. Terim and Herae, also concubines of Yalde’s rank, sat naked by the pool side, Terim with her long legs dangling in the water while Herae brushed her long black hair.

Yalde placed the tray with the fruit bowl and the decanter near YetAmidous’ elbow, then stepped out of the loose gown she had worn to visit the servants’ quarters and slipped into the water. The eyes of the other two men followed her movements but she ignored them. She floated at YetAmidous’ side and poured wine for him.

“So our little time of power may be drawing to an unexpectedly early close,” ZeSpiole said. He brought one hand out of the water and stroked the tawny calf of Terim’s leg. She looked down and smiled at him, though he did not see. Both Terim and Herae were from Ungrian, and spoke only their own tongue and Imperial. The men talked in Tassaseni.

“That might not be so bad,” RuLeuin said. “The Protector told BiLeth to report to me while he’s away and I’m growing tired of having to listen to that idiot pontificate on diplomatic niceties. Part of me hopes UrLeyn does come back.”

“You think he will come back?” YetAmidous asked, looking from RuLeuin to ZeSpiole. He accepted the goblet of wine from Yalde and slurped at it, spilling some into the translucent waters around his wide chest.

“I fear he will,” ZeSpiole said.

“Fear?” RuLeuin said. “But—”

“Oh, not because I am so attached to a temporary third of the shadow of his power,” ZeSpiole said. “But because I think it the wrong thing for him to do for Tassasen.”

“The troops will go on without him, most of them, won’t they?” RuLeuin said.

“It would be better if he did bring some of them back with him,” YetAmidous told the Guard Commander. “There may be three of us to share his authority but there are precious few troops at our command, and when all fine words are finished with it’s soldiers and swords that make power. I have barely enough men to make the city walls look lived in.”

“The Protector has always said that a populace which in general assents to its ruling — and to its rulers — needs few sheriffs and no troops,” ZeSpiole said.

“Easily said when you have several barracks full of soldiers to agree with you,” YetAmidous said. “But you will observe that it is we who are allowed the privilege of testing our master’s theory in this regard, not he.”

“Oh, the people are happy enough,” ZeSpiole said. “For the moment.”

RuLeuin glanced at him. “Your spies are sure of that then?”

“One does not spy on one’s own people,” ZeSpiole informed him. “One has, rather, conduits of communication which lead to the common man. My guards mix with all sorts. They share their houses, their streets, their taverns, and their views.”

“And they hear no grumblings?” YetAmidous asked sceptically, pushing his goblet towards Yalde to be refilled.

“Oh, they hear constant grumblings. The day they stop hearing grumblings I shall be sure that revolt is imminent. But people grumble about this tax or that, or that the Protector keeps such a large harem when many an honest working fellow can hardly find a wife, or they grumble about the luxurious life led by some of the Grand Aedile’s generals,” ZeSpiole said, accepting a piece of fruit from Terim with a broad smile.

RuLeuin smiled too.

YetAmidous drank greedily. “We are to be reassured, then, that we are in no immediate danger from the general populace,” he said. “But what of our other frontiers? They are reduced to the minimum or less. Where are the reinforcements if some other place makes war on us?”

“The problem in Ladenscion will not last for ever,” RuLeuin said, though he looked troubled. “The troops will come home. With the new men and machines now in Niarje, Simalg and Ralboute should be able to bring it to a swift conclusion.”

“We were told that at the start,” YetAmidous reminded the other man. “We should all have gone then, all of us. We should have crushed the barons with every force at our command.” The general made a fist and brought it down on the surface of the water with a splash. Yalde wiped soapy water from her eyes. YetAmidous drank, then spat the wine out. “There’s water in here!” he told Yalde, and tipped the wine over her head. He laughed, followed by the other men. The wine stung her eyes a little, but she bowed her head. YetAmidous pushed her head under the water, then let her bob up once more. “Here.” He pushed the goblet into her hands again. She wiped it with a napkin and refilled it from the decanter.

“That might be obvious to all of us now,” ZeSpiole said. “But it was not then, to any of us. We all agreed that Simalg and Ralboute’s men would be more than ample for the job.”

“Well, they haven’t been,” YetAmidous said, then tested the wine by sloshing it round his mouth. “The Protector should not have entrusted so important a mission to those fops. Noble men, indeed! They are no better than us. He is too impressed by their high birth. They make war like children, like women. They spend too much time talking with these barons when they should be fighting them. Even when they do fight, they fight as though they’re frightened of getting their swords bloody. Too much finesse, not enough muscle. All is ruse and subtlety. I have no time for such nonsense. These barons are best met head on.”

“Your directness has always been your most engaging feature, YetAmidous,” RuLeuin told him. “I think my brother, if he ever had a concern over the style of your generalship, only worried that your assaults tended to be rather expensive in men.”

“Oh, what expense is that?” YetAmidous said, waving his free hand. “Too many of them are idle wretches from the gutter who’d have met an early death anyway. They expect to return with treasure. Usually all they bring back is the diseases they picked up from the whores. Death in battle, a place in history, remembering in a victory song… better than most of the scum deserve. They’re a crude tool and they’re best used crudely, with none of this effeminate feinting and playing around. Better to attack straight and get it over with. These so-noble dandies dishonour the whole business of war.” YetAmidous looked at the two girls sitting at the pool side, then briefly at Yalde. “I wonder sometimes,” he said quietly to the two men, “whether there is not some other motive in the Dukes’ inability to finish this war.”

“What?” RuLeuin said, frowning.

“I had assumed, with the Protector, that they were trying as hard as they could,” ZeSpiole said. “What do you mean, General?”

“I mean that perhaps we are all being treated like fools, sir. That Duke Ralboute and Duke Simalg are closer to the Barons of Ladenscion than they are to us.”

“Apart from physically, obviously,” RuLeuin said, smiling but looking awkward.

“Eh? Aye. Too damn close. Don’t you see?” he asked, levering his bulk away from the side of the bath. “They go off to this war, they pull in more and more troops, they delay and delay and stumble and lose men and machines and come whining to us to help them out, taking troops from the capital and our other frontiers, leaving the way open to any bastard who might want to march in from outside. Who knows what mischief they might have got up to if the Protector had put himself in their midst? The boy about to die might save his father’s life, if he really is his father.”

“General,” RuLeuin said, “have a care. The boy may not be about to die. I have no doubt that in any event I am truly his uncle through my brother, and the Generals Ralboute and Simalg have always shown themselves to be good and true officers of the Protectorate. They joined our cause long before it was sure to succeed and could be said to have risked more than any of us in supporting it, for they started out with much power and prestige which they entirely risked by throwing their lot in with us.” RuLeuin looked to ZeSpiole for support.

ZeSpiole had busied himself with a segment of fruit, burying most of his lower face in it. He looked up at the other two men and expressed surprise with his brows.

YetAmidous waved his hand in dismissal. “All very fine, but the fact remains they have not done as well as they were supposed to in Ladenscion. They said they would triumph there in a few moons. UrLeyn thought they would too. Even I thought that the job ought not to be beyond them, if they applied themselves and threw their troops to the front. But they have done badly. They have failed so far. Cities have not been taken, siege engines and cannon have been lost. Their progress has been halted by every stream, every hill, every damn hedge and flower. I am simply asking why? Why are they doing so badly? What can be the explanation, if it is not deliberate? Might it not be some conspiracy? Might there not be some collusion between the two sides of the war, to drag us and our men in deeper and tempt the Protector himself forward to take part, and then kill him?”

RuLeuin glanced at ZeSpiole again. “No,” he told YetAmidous. “I think that is not the case, and nothing is accomplished by talking like that. Give me some wine,” he said to Herae.

ZeSpiole grinned at YetAmidous. “I must say, Yet,” he said. “Your talent for suspicion is almost on a par with DeWar’s.”

“DeWar!” YetAmidous snorted. “I’ve never trusted him, either.”

“Oh, this is getting preposterous!” RuLeuin said. He drained his goblet and sank under the water, resurfacing to shake his head and blow out his cheeks.

“What can DeWar be up to, do you think, Yet?” ZeSpiole asked, with a smile. “He certainly cannot wish our Protector dead, for he has saved him from almost certain death on several occasions, the last time being when each of us came closer to sending the Protector into the arms of Providence than any assassin ever has. You yourself came within a knuckle of sticking a quarrel straight through UrLeyn’s head.”

“I was aiming for that ort,” YetAmidous said, scowling. “And I almost got the thing, too.” He thrust his goblet out to Yalde again.

“I’m sure you were,” ZeSpiole said. “My own shot was more off target. But you have not said what you suspect DeWar of.”

“I just don’t trust him, that’s all,” YetAmidous said, sounding surly now.

“I would be more concerned that he does not trust you, Yet, old friend,” ZeSpiole said, staring into YetAmidous’ eyes.

“What?” YetAmidous spluttered.

“Well, he may have the feeling that you were trying to kill the Protector that day, on the hunt, by the stream,” ZeSpiole said in a quiet, concerned voice. “He might be watching you, you know. I would worry about that if I were in your position. He is a sly, cunning hound, that one. His approach is silent and his teeth are sharp as razors. I should not care to be the subject of his suspicions, I’ll tell you that. Why, I’d be sorely frightened that I might wake up dead one morning.”

“What?” YetAmidous roared. He threw down the goblet. It splashed into the milky water. He stood up, shaking with fury.

ZeSpiole looked over at RuLeuin, whose expression was anxious. ZeSpiole put his head back and burst out laughing. “Oh, Yet! You are so easy to rile! I’m jesting with you, man. You could have killed UrLeyn a hundred times by now. I know DeWar. He doesn’t think you’re an assassin, you big oaf! Here. Have a fruit.” ZeSpiole lifted a buncher and threw it across the bath at the other man, who caught it and then, after a moment’s confusion, laughed too, sinking back into the swirling water and laughing uproariously.

“Ha! Of course! Ah, you tease me like a hussy, ZeSpiole. Yalde!” he said. “This water’s freezing. Get the servants to bring some more hot. And bring more wine! Where’s my goblet? What have you done with it?”

The goblet, sunk in the bath in front of YetAmidous, had left a red stain in the milky water, like blood.