David Drake - Tyrant

Mention of the mother, whose decapitated head had "adorned" Demansk's quarterdeck not so very long ago, caused him to wince a bit. But the girl's face didn't seem to echo any of that. For all that Demansk could tell, the murder of her mother — following within a day of the death of her father — didn't seem to have affected her much at all.

For a moment, he was alarmed. If the girl was that indifferent to human sentiments. .

Thicelt, as so often before, read his thoughts. "You don't understand the reality of a royal hareem, Triumvir. Explain it to him, Jirri."

The girl was confused. "Explain what? Uh, great lord — ah—"

Thicelt grinned. " 'Governor' will do fine." He hooked a thumb at Demansk. "What I meant was, explain to him why you don't seem very upset at the death of your parents. Or your brothers."

Jirri almost goggled at Demansk. "I hardly knew my father, Triumvir. And my mother's not dead. She — oh. You thought she was Queen Yora. No, she was one of the King's concubines." After a moment's hesitation: "To be honest, I was glad they killed Yora. I hated her, and she frightened me. I'm sure — well, almost — that she was planning to have me murdered. Her son, Prince Frand, was starting to sniff around me — even though he was my half brother — and she didn't like it."

Demansk rubbed his face. He'd heard tales from Helga, about the sometimes savage intrigue within hareems. And the hareem Helga had been held captive in was that of an old, tired chieftain. The hareem of a relatively young and dynamic ruler like Casull would, likely enough, resemble a nest of serpents.

"As for my brothers and half brothers," Jirri was continuing, "I either didn't know them or, the ones I did, didn't like them much. Especially Frand. I like my sisters Harra and Tlal a lot — Yuni and Fayr not so much, they're half sisters anyway — but they're all still alive too." There was a little lift in her voice, speaking that last. It seemed as if Princess Jirri had come to the conclusion that her conqueror was not a monster, after all, and so her mother and sisters could expect to stay alive.

Then, her tone grew slightly sullen. "But I don't know why they had to kill Rafta. She was a sweet-tempered thing, even if she couldn't really talk."

Demansk waved his hand. "Never mind, Jirri. I'm satisfied. And now—" He walked over to a nearby table, picked up a stylus and a blank codex, and plopped it on the table in front of her.

"What the Governor and I will now be doing, among other things, is what is called 'logistics.' A lot of that is just recording numbers — which you're going to do for us. In the Confederacy, it's called being a 'secretary.' It's quite a prestigious position, by the way, at least if you're doing it for someone important."

Jirri stared down at the stylus and codex, then looked up at Demansk. Her eyes seemed as wide as saucers.

"You want me to do something?" She was almost gaping. Then, a smile came to her face. And, for the first time since he'd lain eyes on her, Princess Jirri looked like what she really was — a fifteen-year-old girl.

"Oh! That sounds like fun. "

* * *

Hours later, Jirri's eyes were starting to droop. She was clearly struggling to remain awake. Suddenly, it dawned on Demansk that the girl couldn't have gotten any sleep at all the night before.

A bit guiltily, he put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "That's enough, girl. Go to sleep. You'll have to share the bed with me tonight, I'm afraid. But I'll have something made up for tomorrow. I won't wake you, though, I don't think."

Jirri covered her mouth, yawned, and then coughed a little laugh behind her hand. "Don't think so. Everyone always teased me about how heavy a sleeper I am. But my mother says that's because I have a clear conscience."

I wish I did, lass, thought Demansk, as he watched her stumble to the bed and clamber onto it. Within seconds, she was curled against the wall and sound asleep. But I will say that you've helped. With my conscience even more than the numbers.

Thicelt cleared his throat. Demansk looked at him.

"The special courier ship left last night to bring word to Trae. If all works as planned, he will soon have a great accomplishment to his own name. At which point—"

Demansk grinned. "Odd, isn't it, how great minds think alike? At which point, needless to say, it will be time for my youngest son to think about getting married."

Chapter 20

But when Trae reached Chalice, three weeks later, he was anything but filled with self-satisfaction at his martial exploits.

"There wasn't any fighting at all, Father," he complained bitterly. He upended his cup of wine, drained half of it in one gulp, and almost slammed it down on the side table — without, amazingly, spilling anything.

Sourly: "Except for killing some of my own soldiers and sailors. On three of the ships — dammit, I gave clear orders ahead of time! — the bastards started raping the women." He gave Forent Nappur, lounging on a nearby couch, a glance of approval. "Next time, if there is a next time, I'll insist on having some of his men along. They'd have paid attention to them. "

Demansk was not lounging, he was sitting upright. "So what did you do?" he asked. The question was not an idle one. In and of itself, he didn't much care about the travails of refugee women. Those who'd stayed behind on Preble would have suffered a much worse fate at the hands of Albrecht's vengeful troops, after all, when they sacked the island. But the way in which Trae handled such a challenge to his authority was. . critical.

Trae shrugged. "What could I do? There were only a handful of marines on each of those ships — which, as it was, were packed full of refugees. And — fucking swine — they were the ones leading the charge anyway. All I had was the steam ram."

He grabbed the goblet, drained the rest of it — spilling some on his tunic, this time — and slammed it back down. "Ha! The marines on the first ship I ordered to cease and desist even had the gall to make obscene gestures at me."

For the first time since Trae had stalked into the Governor's Palace, an expression other than sourness came to his face. Granted, it was a young man's snarl, a bit too flamboyant to be fully effective. But. . effective enough, Demansk thought.

"So, of course, I rammed the ship. Broke it in half! Then ordered the nearest three ships to pick up the refugees out of the water and leave the marines and the sailors to the sharks. They did it right quick, too, damned if they didn't."

The other men in the room, Demansk and Nappur and Thicelt, burst into laughter. Demansk more loudly than the others.

"Crude, crude," reproved Thicelt, still chuckling, "but I dare say it was effective."

The scowl was back on Trae's face. "I had to do it twice , dammit! The fleet was too big and spread out for all the ships to see what had happened to the first one."

Demansk nodded. "And the third ship?"

Trae jerked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing in the direction of the harbor below the palace. "I had the crew and marines arrested when we came ashore." With some heat: "I'd have had them—"

He broke off the angry statement. "But I'm not in charge here, so I just had them put in custody. Forent's men have them." He looked at Thicelt. "I guess you are, since you're the Governor. I think—"

Nappur's deep, growling voice went through the room like a predator's stalk. "No, he's not in charge, on this matter. I am, since it's a matter of army discipline. Those men disobeyed clear instructions from their commanding officer, given to them beforehand. You did, correct?"

Trae nodded vigorously, almost fiercely. "By the gods, yes! We spent weeks preparing for the expedition — months, rather. I even made a special trip to Rope to meet with the ship captains, all of them."