John Carr - Kalvan Kingmaker

For the first time that he could remember, Verkan Vail was so nonplussed he was actually speechless.

Kalvan walked quickly down the stone staircase, his boot steps echoing behind him. In his mind he still heard baby Demia's coughs-or croup as his Aunt Harriet used to call it when he was growing up. He remembered his younger cousins having it a lot, but then they had sulfa drugs and cough syrup. Now, of course, there was penicillin, which was the best of the antibacterial medications. Here-and-now there were a few potions and poultices, but nothing he'd risk his daughter's life on-if he had any other choice.

Note: Do research on penicillin molds, starting with common bread mold.

Of course, if he wasn't spending most of his time in weapons research and building here-and-now's version of the military industrial complex, he might get some of these less dramatic inventions out of his head and into their lives. Of course, every time he 'invented' another device, this changed the future in directions he wasn't sure were for the best.

Kalvan passed the Great Hall and went down the long corridor past three doors to Rylla's private audience chamber, stopping suddenly when he realized she had company. He was about to go in anyway; after all, he was Great King-but the note of urgency in Rylla's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Why isn't he answering our letters, Mytron?"

"Queen Rylla, do you remember Xentos' last missive, where he stated that the Temple's business held priority over any worldly realm-including that of Hos-Hostigos?"

Rylla's voice sounded a petulant note Kalvan hadn't heard very often. He remembered Xentos' last letter, which had arrived at least a moon ago, and Rylla's white face after he read it aloud. She had left the room quickly before he could read her face. He hadn't realized just how badly she had taken Xentos' lack of support-or betrayal-only time would tell.

It bothered Rylla enough that she was still fretting over it. "Mytron, doesn't Xentos realize that he only attended the Council of Dralm on Our sufferance?"

"You know Xentos better than that, Your Majesty. He suffers no one. He has ruled the Temple of Dralm in Hostigos with an iron hand."

"I never saw that side of him, Brother Mytron. He was always my 'Uncle' who came with presents and funny stories to cheer me up, whether in the tiltyard or in the music chamber-although not so much when I sang!"

Kalvan could hear them both laughing.

"I fear that has changed, now that you have a husband and a kingdom to run. Xentos has a very stern side; I remember when he would wake us novices before daybreak and put us to work scrubbing the stone paving of the temple floors. Even now, as a grown man, I walk softly when I hear his voice rise. He never shouts, but he does get his words across and woe to those who do not listen."

"How strange, Mytron. It's almost as if we are talking about two different people."

No, thought Kalvan, just two different roles-palace sycophant and temple bully. He himself wasn't very happy about Chancellor Xentos' reluctance to help Hostigos win its needed allies in the war against Styphon's House. Kalvan had expected some act or word of encouragement from Agrys City long before now. It also hurt him to hear the plaintive little girl voice come out of Great Queen Rylla's mouth.

"I had such a wonderful life at Tarr-Hostigos growing up. Maybe because I didn't have a mother, I always had all these 'uncles' to take care of me."

Spoil you is more like it, thought Kalvan. That was one mistake they wouldn't repeat with Princess Demia.

"Bring me presents, play with me and share their knowledge. There was old 'Uncle' Chartiphon, 'Uncle Harmakros' and my favorite-'Uncle' Xentos. I never thought he'd betray my trust like this-Her voice broke.

Kalvan could almost see young Brother Mytron's fluttering hands, since the cherubic priest had little or no experience dealing with the opposite sex. Kalvan took pity on him and, after making noise with his boots, walked into the chamber.

"Oh Kalvan!" Rylla said, brushing at her eyes. Mytron, red-faced, bowed and bolted from the room as quickly as his stubby legs would take him.

Kalvan tried to wave him back. The poor little priest probably thought Kalvan suspected something was going on between the two of them.

"I didn't expect you until lunch, husband."

"I heard little Demia coughing in the nursery and I thought I ought to talk to her mother about it."

"It's just the Baby Cough; all the babies get it. Nothing much to be done about it either. Brother Mytron's bloodroot tea is too strong for babies."

Kalvan wondered about the little ones who contracted pneumonia and how their parents dealt with that. Well, he knew the answer here-and-now: it was stoically and with great resignation. There were few alternatives, since the various gods and their temples offered little religious consolation for a grief-stricken parent. He suddenly realized, as he saw the worry in Rylla's eyes, that there could be far greater losses than even those on the battlefield. Some half-remembered aphorism about children being their parent's hostage to fortune came to mind and he resolved to beef up security measures in the nursery. He doubted there were many Styphoni sympathizers in Hos-Hostigos, but all it took was one…

Hadron Tharn heard the portal alarm go off and looked over at the privacy screen, seeing the face of his older sister, Dalla. He tapped the release code and the door opened.

"Long time no see, Sis."

Dalla winced. She was still playing mama-a job their birth mother had rejected. They had been close during their youth, until she met the future supercop, Verkan Vail. Actually, he rather admired Verkan's single-mindedness and lack of squeamishness. Verkan's, problem was that he still retained too many of the ideals of the old nobility that he'd been born into. Whereas, he had cast off all those old-fashioned ideas when Herr Goebbels and his philosopher friend, Martin Heidegger, had introduced him to the works of Friedrich Nietzsche. 'The overman is free because all his own values flow from his own will.' He remembered those words well and lived them.

"I haven't seen you in a half-year, where have you been?"

None of your business, he wanted to shout, but Big Sis still had her uses. Without her influence, the super Paracop might be taking a closer look at his wanderings and financial dealings. That would not do, at least, now while events were still percolating. "I've been overseeing some of my outtime business affairs."

"I understand from cousin Falro that you've been causing quite a stir in First Level financial affairs."

Falro was in banking and it was useful to know that he still owed his loyalty to Dalla, who he'd unsuccessfully tried to romance-pre-Verkan era. "It keeps me occupied. And, as you know Dalla, the only things our parents left to us were credits." That was a sore spot, he knew it and smacked her with it whenever Dalla tried to play mama. The truth was mother had left the family for outtime adventure and it had been no great loss to anyone but Dalla. He'd been too young to even remember her. He saw mother once or twice every twenty years and ohhhed and ahhhed while she treated him like a distant friend.

"So what really brings you here, Dalla? I've been a good boy; no more visits to Fourth Level, Europo-American Axis Subsector." He'd been fortunate to make his first visits there, while a student at Dhergabar University, secretly ferreting out future business as an agent with Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs before the Big War in Europo-American, when the entire Axis Sub-sector had been declared off-limits to all First Level commercial and travel bureaus. He still had his contacts, but no one knew of them but Warntha, his personal bodyguard, the only person in the universe he completely trusted.