House of Lust (45 page)

Isbel was up early the next morning, rapidly issuing orders to the guards.  She hurriedly washed, changed and emerged from her chambers still being attended to by her harassed maidservants.  Amne appeared, looking white.  She hadn’t spent a restful night.  Isbel brought her up to date with the events after Amne had left.

“I heard most of it but – what do you think is going on?  He’s clearly under some evil influence.”

Isbel agreed.  “The apothecary is investigating the contents of his goblet.  It didn’t smell right to me.  If Astiras has been slowly poisoned or drugged these past few seasons, then it’s no surprise he’s acted so badly.  I think we should show restraint until we know exactly what is going on.”

“Agreed.  Well, this is a turn up!  Father and I ending up at each other’s throats and you and I becoming this close.”  She held her step-mother briefly, and Isbel squeezed her arm in gratitude.

“How are the girls?”

“Lucky they went before the real excitement started, but they were a little scared all the same.  So what about Istan then?  You think he was involved in this Mirrodan plot to wreck your marriage?”

“I don’t doubt it.  He’s a nasty vindictive boy and I think he believes if he can get all of us out of his way he can become emperor.  That’s what his ambition is.  As long as he believes that, he’ll work at getting rid of us all.  What a horrible thing to think of your own son!” she finished.

“But so right – I’ve never liked him.  So unlike Argan,” Amne said.  “He’s such a darling – so considerate and thoughtful.  Oh and that Sasia girl – she likes him a lot.”  Amne smiled wickedly.

Isbel walked with Amne to the main administrative office.  “I think I know what you’re getting at.  That may pose problems in the future when Argan seeks to marry.  No Kastanian noblewoman will tolerate a fully aware adult Bragalese servant in her household.  And you’re saying Sasia is enamoured of Argan?”

Amne spread her hands briefly.  “She’s not capable of anything yet, but once she gets to that age… Argan will be fully occupied keeping her off him.”

“Oh, dear gods! We will have to get her away from him in that case.”

“Mother – write to him.  Let him explain it from his point of view – don’t go forcing him to do things he’d rather not do.  Speak to him.  Treat him as a grown-up – yes, yes I know he’s not yet, but honestly, he’s growing up pretty fast and he’s quite mature in some ways, and in others,” she shrugged, “he’s just the old lovely Argan we know.”

Isbel sighed.  “I could really do with your full time support here, Amne, but I know you’re keen to go back to Kastan city – and before that gets too big,” the empress pointed to the bump.  “Bad morning?”

Amne nodded.  “Spent the first part of the morning trying to eat a small breakfast, and the second part throwing it up.  The girls seem fine though.  I’m taking them round the courtyard this morning.  Make sure Istan is not going anywhere near there.”

“He won’t.  I’ve got Gallis to take him for an all-day lesson in etiquette.  He was properly shaken up last night and wanted me to be with him.  He didn’t say much this morning but he’s quite clearly frightened.” Isbel sat down.  “I’ll send a note to you the moment I hear anything.”

“Where’s father?”

“Sedated and tied to his bed.  Nobody is going anywhere near him.  I’m acting regent and I’ll have to write to Jorqel and get his opinion as to what to do.”

Amne nodded and looked around the room.  “Sometimes mother, I wish we’d never been pushed into this position.  We’d’ve been just one of the noble Houses then, with nobody taking much notice of us.”

Isbel put her chin in her hand and looked at her step-daughter thoughtfully.  “Perhaps you’re right, Amne.  But then I wonder what would have happened to us all if the Fokis or Duras had been left to run things into the ground.  Would we now be subjects of Venn, or Mazag?  Our estates would have been confiscated for certain, and we would have ended up in some poor housing estate in the less well-to-do quarter of Kastan City.”

“But do you think being made the imperial House has done us, the family, any good?”

Isbel shook her head.  “No.  I wish with all my heart I wasn’t here in this position.  I would then spend my days in my country house playing with my grand-daughters and fussing over yet another of your pregnancies.”

Amne laughed.  “How true!  And I would have had a handsome young nobleman as my husband.”

Isbel smiled tiredly.  “You would have had a whole legion of suitors, too.  You are such a beautiful woman.”

Amne lowered her eyes, blushing.  “Oh, gods!  Now look what you’ve made me do!  I’ve not done this in ages!”

Isbel took Amne’s hand in hers.  “Go to your daughters, relax, enjoy your day.  You need rest.  I’ll take care of things here.  I’ll run these admin clerks senseless.”

Amne nodded, kissed Isbel on the cheek and went to the door.  She turned in the doorway.  “I don’t envy you – being empress isn’t as glamorous as people think, is it?”

Isbel smiled and waved Amne out.  She then sighed and looked at the clerks, all waiting on her words.  “Send out notices to all cities and provinces.  The emperor is unwell and currently is unable to carry out his official duties.  I am acting as regent in the meantime.”  She flexed her fingers.  First things first.  A letter to Vosgaris.  She had thought long and hard over the matter.  She would not reverse Astiras’ decision.  Perhaps it was best, after all, that he remain in Niake, away from Isbel.  However, her feelings for him had not changed, and she still longed for his touch and embrace.  She would, however, inform him as to the emperor’s condition.

Istan was very subdued in his lessons that day.  The realisation that he had nearly been killed in his father’s rage had been like a shock of cold water thrown over him.  His mind was a turmoil of competing emotions and it would take time for him to get over the incident.  In the meantime, he tried to put it out of his mind as best he could by concentrating on what the dreadfully dull Gallis was teaching him.

Amne felt better the later it got in the day.  The feeling of nausea was not so strong and she looked forward to getting past this phase.  It was the one thing she really detested about being pregnant.  Throwing up at a moment’s notice was hardly dignified, and it took just the wrong smell at the wrong time to set her off.  Lucky she wasn’t in a fishing port or she’d be face down permanently.  The two girls didn’t seem worse for the sight of their grandfather’s temper the previous night and happily ran about the courtyard, watched over by Amne and her handmaidens.

The apothecary visited Isbel and indicated he wanted to speak to her privately.  In her chambers he turned to face her, his face serious.  “Your majesty, I regret to say I cannot identify what is in the emperor’s drink, but it is not only vinefruit.  Whatever ails him was in that drink, but as I cannot identify what it is, I cannot propose a cure.”

“Are you saying it’s a poison?”

“I don’t know – it’s no poison I’m familiar with if it is one.  It may be something else.”

Isbel thanked him.  “Is there any of the liquid left?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Then keep it secure and sealed.  I may have to send for someone who might know what it is.”

He backed out, bowing.  Isbel got up and went to Astiras.  He was lying in his bed, secured, thrashing his head from side to side.  Somebody had got at him, clearly, and had administered something to him, probably over a long period of time, if his slow descent from his normal behaviour was anything to go by.  Perhaps the last half year or so.  She put a hand on his forehead.  It was hot.

Damn it!  She had fallen for Vosgaris, believing Astiras didn’t care for her anymore, but now it seemed this was down to someone drugging or poisoning him.  Another security breach in the castle.  She made her mind up.  There was only one person she could think of who could help in this case.

Metila. 

A person she had vowed never to speak to ever again, or see.  The irony of it.  She shook her head in resignation, and went to the office to compose yet another letter.  An imperial summons would bring her swiftly enough.

____

Niake.  Vosgaris slowly rode up to the gates and stopped.  Two guards stepped forward, militiamen.  Vosgaris appraised them critically.  A bit sloppy, and not very competent in their questioning.  That would have to change.  He presented his imperial edict, sealed and tied with purple ribbon.  “Commander Vosgaris Taboz, taking up a new command appointment in Niake.”

“Sir,” the first militiaman snapped to attention.  “Welcome to Niake, sir.”

“Thank you.”  He glanced up at the gatehouse.  No guard stood near the portcullis winch.  He could see that much.  He shook his head.  Sloppy, sloppy.  He felt irritated by the entire thing.  “Smarten up!” he barked suddenly, startling the two men.  “What if I were a Tybar spy?”

“Sir?”

“What is your procedure in handling a visiting military official whom you do not know?”

“Uh, sir.  Fetch the guard sergeant.”

“Then do so.  I will not have this slack attitude.  I am the new military commander here and you will do things correctly.  Is that clear?”

“Sir!” the two chorused.  The second ducked into the guardroom hurriedly while the first remained in a guard position, pointing his spear at the commander’s body.  Correct, but clearly incapable of dealing with him if Vosgaris decided to strike out.

The sergeant came stumbling out, his surcoat stained, no helmet on, the remains of a meal smeared over his chin.  “What’s this?” he demanded, blinking in the sun.

“Sergeant – who?” Vosgaris asked, eyeing the man in disgust.

“Mendik, sir.”  Mendik eyed the imperial edict and decided it was best to play it safe.

“Sergeant Mendik.  You are a disgrace to your uniform.  You do not eat on duty.  You will wear your helmet.  You do not soil the Imperial Uniform you wear.  You are not a hill bandit from the borderlands.  You are – supposedly – a non-commissioned officer in the Bathenian Militia.  Now begin setting an example to your incredibly sloppy soldiers in how a soldier should act.  I will be carrying out a full review of the military here in the next few days and you can bet every furim you have that if I find anyone – anyone – not fit to wear the uniform, then they will not be wearing it any longer.  Got it?”

“Sir!” Mendik stood up straight, a globule of some unidentifiable food dropping off his soiled surcoat to the ground between his feet.

Vosgaris eyed it, then slowly ran his eyes up the trembling figure of the sergeant.  “You’re out of condition, Sergeant.  Tomorrow morning you will report to me at the Governor’s residence with full uniform.  We will exercise you in the courtyard there until you throw up.  Clear?”

Mendik tried to stand even straighter, endangering his spine.  Vosgaris slipped the scroll back under the saddle and gestured to the portcullis.  “You know standing orders.  Two men to be on duty at all times manning that in case of a surprise attack.  Where are the two men supposed to be up there?”

“Ah, sir, they – ah, are temporarily absent.”

“Doing what?”

Mendik looked to the two guards, and when he got no help, muttered something, looking at the ground.

“Where?  What?” Vosgaris leaned forward in his saddle.  “Gods’ teeth, man, aren’t you able to command a squad of eight men?”

“Ah six, sir,” Mendik corrected the officer.

“Six?  Six?  Imperial military rules state no less than eight men, and in fact, in time of war there are to be twelve.  Well?”

“Ah, sir, we’re not at war.”

Vosgaris tightened his jaw.  “Venn invaded Bragal a moon ago, man.  What do you think they were going to do?  Blow us kisses?  I was there – I saw the battle.  Twelve men.  Who decided six?”

“Ah – the governor’s office sir.  Cutbacks, saving money.”

Vosgaris exhaled noisily.  “Stand aside, Sergeant, and smarten this disgraceful unit up.  I’ll have you cleaning out the sewers for a sevenday if I find such indolence again.  Clear?”

Mendik saluted and watched as the new commander rode slowly past them, his eyes taking in the weeds growing in the stonework, the rubbish blowing about the gatehouse and the pile of soiled cloth left in a doorway.  He puffed out his cheeks.  “Right you lazy lot,” he growled once all was clear, “I want this place smartened up.  If it isn’t, then I promise you that should I be disciplined for it being a rodent’s nest, then you’ll go down with me.”

Vosgaris made his way through the streets, watching the people making their way to and fro, here and there.  Some looked at him in curiosity, then went about their business.  The main square was not far and he entered it, spotting the residence immediately.  The opposite side was a mass of traders’ stalls and business looked brisk. 

Turning the head of his equine towards the residence, Vosgaris walked his beast towards the gates.  Two militiamen stood by these, looking very bored.  He flicked a quick glance at the edifice of the residence.  Some windows were open, the front door ajar and unguarded.  He came to a halt by the gates and peered down at the two men.  “Where is the duty officer?” he demanded.

“Ah, sir, inside the main door.”  The guard looked alarmed.

“Then go fetch him.”  Vosgaris was tired, hot, irritable.  He hadn’t wanted this post, but now he was here, he could see that it needed someone to shake things up.  The governor seemed not to have much of a grasp on things.