Lord of Janissaries (97 page)

A knock on the door.

“Come in, Hamar.”

The boy set the pot of homebrew on the desk, piled the armful of logs on the fire, then came back to fill Warner’s cup. It was silver, commissioned from a Roman soldier who’d been apprenticed to a silversmith before he joined the legions. Lovely work, with centaurs and horses chasing each other around the rim. Probably cost a thousand or more back home.

Back on Earth, you mean. Tran’s home now, Tran or nothing.
And Tran’s not so bad. Consider the bracing climate, the quaint customs of the natives, the chance to sample genuine medieval living, the spice of danger to keep you from going soft, the headaches caused by women who can’t keep their pants on . . .

Warner swigged down his wine. Oh well, there was always one thing to do with a hot potato: pass it up the chain of command. That meant Elliot. Let the sergeant major worry about it. Let
him
tell the captain.

“Here’s to the chain of command!”

* * *

Mason pulled his chair out and turned it so that he could sit with his feet toward the fire.

Elliot handed around cups of herb tea well laced with McCleve’s Best. “Not bad stuff, Professor,” Elliot said. “I expect the major can use a bit more of that.”

“Damn straight. The passes are full of snow. They say this is a mild winter.” Mason drained half the cup. “Hate to see a bad one. Now what’s all this about?”

“In a minute,” Warner said. He refilled the cups.

“Where’s Gwen?” Mason asked a couple of swallows later.

“Interviewing her new—guess you’d call it office manager,” said Warner. “Not a secretary—that means a scribe to the locals, and that’s not work for a noblewoman. This girl’s a granddaughter of old Camithon.”

“Is she good-looking?” asked Mason.

“What’s the matter, Major?” said Elliot. “Another suit fall through?”

“Top, it never got off the ground in the first place,” Mason said. “What I really need is a professional matchmaker. Or better yet, a Polaroid camera.”

“You’d have to be careful taking pictures,” said Warner. “Somebody could decide the camera was stealing their souls.”

Elliot laughed. “The Ay-rabs believe that. Least the Yemeni did. Hadn’t heard they think that here.”

“Neither have I,” said Warner. “But an awful lot of the locals still believe that what was good enough for great-grandma is good enough, period. Hell, talk to some of the local chandlers about my new candle wicks. I figured they’d copy them just for the money, but naw, they waiting for a sign from Yatar—”

“Okay, you got good candles. And I didn’t ride through half the snow on Tran to hear about them. Spit it out, Professor.”

Warner sighed. “Yeah.” He pulled out the two sheets of parchment covered with tight handwriting. “It’s in Tex-Mex, so you’ll have to trust my translation.”

“I can read that lingo too, Professor,” Elliot said.

“I guess Arnie didn’t know that.”

“Arnold Gengrich doesn’t know anywhere near as much as he thinks he does,” Elliot said.

“So one of you read it to me.”

“I’ll do it.” As Warner finished each sheet he passed it to Elliot.

Art Mason got up and poured another cup of tea. “Read that way to you, Top?”

“Yes, sir.”

Yes, sir. Elliot’s all of a sudden glad he’s not in charge.
Mason turned to Warner. “Think he’s bluffing, Professor?”

“No, sir.”

“He’s not. I found out a few things on my own.” He looked significantly at Elliot, who nodded. “No bluff, and he’s got all the proof he needs.”

“Does the captain know yet?” Elliot asked.

“Not yet. Unless Larry sent in a report—”

“Not me,” Warner protested.

“We have to tell him.”

“Yes, Sergeant Major, we have to tell him.”

“Major, we ought to have told him the instant you found that damned Wolf House.”

“Maybe. Warner, who else did you talk to about this?”

“Nobody.”

Mason raised one eyebrow. “Not even Gwen?”

“No, sir. I figured this one was too big for me to handle.”

“You figured right,” Elliot said. “You go on keeping your mouth shut around Gwen and I’ll begin to think you’re as smart as you say you are.”

Art Mason paced the length of the room. “Okay. Larry, you’re coming to Edron with us. Find yourself a good reason. The captain will be there if we leave now. You know Gengrich better than the rest of us. How much time do you reckon we have?”

“Awhile. Until spring, I’d guess. Arnie knows we can’t march in the winter. He wants to come back, not mess us up.”

“It could mess things pretty good if we say ‘Come back, all is forgiven,’ ” Elliot said. “He set up on his own. Did a good job, too. Bring him back and he gets a lot more firepower. Do we trust him with it?”

“Don’t know, Sergeant Major. But what are our choices? Suggestions, Top?”

A long silence. “None, sir.”

“Okay. Another thing. No semaphore messages on this. None. If any more code clerks desert, the system comes apart.”

“Yes, sir,” Elliot agreed.

“Anything more? No?” Art held out his cup. “How about a refill, Professor. Leave out the tea.”

* * *

They were a long way from Earth and military formalities, but Warner, Elliot, and Mason stood at attention in front of Rick Galloway’s desk. Rick laid the parchment sheets aside and regarded them coldly.

“Okay. You aren’t the first to hide something from the Old Man. I don’t need excuses or apologies. What I need is answers. Mason.”

“Sir.”

“You say the House of the Wolf was abandoned just after you went in there. They didn’t care dick about the oath you made them take. Right?”

“Looks that way, Colonel.”

“Any chance of finding the Children?”

“No sir. The trail’s cold and there’s been new snow. I put Beazeley and the Intelligence people on it, and that’s about all I can do without turning out enough manpower to make people curious.”

“So they could have gone anywhere. Including south.”

“Yes, sir,” Elliot said. “Which means Gengrich may have more to worry about than he knows.”

“Holy—we can’t alert him,” Warner blurted. “Least I don’t know how. The semaphore system—”

“I thought of that,” Rick said. “But thanks for bringing it up. You three made one good move there. None of this goes onto the semaphore. Elliot, we’ve got to restructure that system. Beef it up. I want it tougher, and more secure. And under
our
exclusive control.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get on it.”

“There’s maybe one way to find them,” Mason said. He fell silent.

“Spit it out.”

“If we knew where to look.”

“Oh.” Rick thought about that. “She would know, wouldn’t she?”

“It’s a safe bet, sir.”

Art looks relieved. Why? Because I’m taking it so well. Oscar time, Galloway.
“The question is, do I let her know that we know?”

“Nobody can decide
that
but you,” Warner said. Elliot glared at him.

“May I say something, sir?” Mason asked.

“Yes.”

“Like I told Beazeley, Lady Tylara has a short fuse but she isn’t crazy. It’s why I didn’t stake out the place and round up the Children when I had a chance. I don’t know what she’s planning—”

“But you think it might be useful.”

“Yes, sir. Exactly.”

“I’m sure she’d appreciate the compliment.”

“There’s something else,” Elliot said.

“Yeah, Top?”

“You already know it, Colonel. We put too much effort in this and the story’ll leak out. God knows what happens then, but it won’t be good.”

“Blood feud. Not just Lady Tylara, but her father and his whole clan,” Larry Warner added. “Against Caradoc’s people. That sets a good part of the University garrison into civil war.”

“So we have to see it doesn’t get out,” Rick said. “That’s priority one. What can we do if it leaks out anyway?”

Art Mason shook his head. “Colonel, you know as well as me. Lady Tylara would have to disown her little assassins, and turn them over alive to Caradoc’s relatives. Or put their heads on pikes.”

Which she won’t do. If she gave the orders, she’ll protect the kids who carried them out. I think. I sure as hell can’t assume she won’t. Jesus Christ, no wonder she won’t sleep with me!
“And even that won’t work.”

“Probably not,” Warner said. “It’s too big for blood money. This was—was—”

“Cold-blooded betrayal of a loyal subordinate,” Rick finished for him. “Yes, Mr. Warner, I’m aware of that.”
And I shouldn’t talk to him like that.

“There’s another problem, Colonel,” Mason said. “Caradoc commanded the Mounted Archers. Some of our most loyal troops. If they find out—”

“Who watches our backs,” Rick finished. “Thank you for reminding me. We don’t have any choices. So. Assuming we can keep secrets—”

Elliot drew himself up to say something.

“And we can, it boils down to Gengrich. How smart is he? Mr. Warner?”

“Colonel, I thought about that all the way here. I’d say plenty smart enough.” He spoke in a rush. “He’ll have given himself insurance. Told some people. Too many for us to off. Not enough that it’ll get out if we cooperate with him.”

“Sure of that?”

“Pretty sure, sir.”

“Elliot?”

“Yeah, he’d try to do it that way.”

“Can he bring it off?”

Elliot hesitated. “Yes, sir. I think so.”

“So. Gengrich wants full pardons for his people, and confirmation of his field promotions. Can we live with that?”

“No problems with the pardons,” Elliot said. Mason nodded agreement. “Promotions may be stickier.”

“They’re also more likely to be negotiable,” Warner said. “You can be sure that Arnie asks for more than he thinks he’ll get.”

“We can promote our own people,” Rick said. “Rank inflation. Everybody moves up a couple of notches.”
And it helps that we’ve got about a dozen organizations and everybody has different ranks in each.
“All of Gengrich’s mercs will be Star Lords.”

“Which will mean one hell of a lot more here than down there,” Mason said.

“Will it?” Rick asked. “We live better, but we’ve also got discipline. Elliot, what kind of problems is Gengrich bringing?”

“Boyd’s the biggest one. Lot of ability, but he chases. Chases anything, married or not.”

“He’ll keep it in his pants here,” Rick said. “See to it.”

“Sir.”

“That’s settled, then. Next question. Gwen. How much does she know?”

“I said I didn’t tell her, Colonel—”

“I know what you said, Mr. Warner. Are you sure that’s the only way she has of finding out?”

“The letter was sealed.”

“And in Tex-Mex,” Elliot said.

“Gwen knows Latin,” Rick said.

“Oh, shit, of course she does.”

“So how sealed?” Rick asked.

“Looked good to me. Sewed up and sealed in leather, Arnie’s high-school class ring stamped in wax all over it. Colonel, I’d bet a lot nobody opened that before me.”

“We are betting a lot. If she knows and we don’t know it—damn, I’m almost tempted to tell her myself.”

“Might not be a bad idea,” Warner said. “This might be a strain—”

“Three can keep a secret if two are dead,” Mason said. “Colonel, there’s enough know this now. It’s sure to get out, no matter what we do. The longer that takes, the better. Long enough and it’s just another rumor.”

“Okay. We don’t tell her.”
You don’t. Maybe I will. Be a good reason to go see her.
“Anything else?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Dismissed.”

Rick waited until the others had left.
Les always thought Gwen would marry me. I suppose he thought I’d be civilized about things when he came back.
He lifted the wine cup, and stared at it a moment. Then he threw the wine into the fire.

INTERLUDE
GWEN TREMAINE’S
DIARY

—the first day I felt like being up and around since Caradoc’s birth. I still don’t have enough milk to nurse him, but he’s thriving on what the wet nurses give him, and otherwise he didn’t give me much trouble. That’s one hard delivery and two fairly easy ones. Maybe I’m getting the knack. If I’m going to be Fertile Myrtle on a planet with medieval obstetrics and gynecology, I’d better.

The name won’t fool anybody into thinking the boy is Caradoc’s, at least anybody who can count. It doesn’t matter that much. It would have if I’d remarried and gotten pregnant barely two months after Caradoc was killed. Funny how charitable people are now that my long-lost Earth soldier husband is back from the dead.

The weather is mild enough to make you think spring really will come before you’re old and grey. One thing about being pregnant in the winter: it makes the cabin-fever even less endurable. But it does look like the winter will end.

Larry Warner came by for lunch. He’s still as wound up as he was before he went up to Edron. What does he know that he’s not telling me? I tried to find out, but he started talking about the guano shipment from the Nikeian islands. . . .

Damn whoever or whatever made Larry so nervous around me! It’s spoiled my only real open friendship on this damned planet.

It doesn’t help that Marva has accepted Campbell. They’re going to be married when Rick comes through on his way south, so we’ll have plenty of high-ranking witnesses and sponsors. Marva’s going to keep working, at least until the kids start coming, but now she’ll pass things on to Campbell that maybe he shouldn’t know. One more problem.

I thought Lady Siobhan would be able to take Marva’s place, but now it looks like Art Mason has staked a claim. He writes to her, and the last time he was here he started giving her English lessons. Of course he’ll probably let her go on working. The University is one of the safest places around. But she’s only seventeen. Who’ll have her loyalty—the University or her husband? Foo. Another confidante lost. She’ll be the next thing to Rick’s spy here.

Rick. I asked Larry how he and Tylara are, and got the oddest look. Not surprise, exactly; but—I wish I knew what Rick is thinking. Last time I was there, he and Tylara weren’t what you’d call chummy. Suppose—No. I cannot think about that. I simply cannot.

Les, I miss you. Don’t sideswipe a black hole or anything stupid like that.