David Drake - Tyrant

Demansk felt the tension in his shoulders ease. Took another drink from his goblet — a sip, this time — and leaned back in his own chair.

Helga was right, bless her. By whatever gods might still exist, I'll forgive her all her trespasses. Just for having had the sense to fall in love with the right man.

Then, half ruefully: Might even add five years to my lifespan, letting her quarrel with him instead of me.

"The gentry, " Adrian reemphasized. "They're the key. One of them, at any rate. And what's the old saying about the Vanbert gentry? There's nothing they adore more than a crazy aristocrat — who does all the things they'd never dream of doing, and provides them with half their gossip, to boot. Provided, of course, that the aristocrat is a real one. The crust of the upper crust, as it were."

He glanced at Demansk, then Sallivar. "I'm not personally familiar with the lady, but I get the sense—"

"Gods, you're serious, " exclaimed Helga. She shook her head, as if to clear it. Then, for the first time, seemed to finally consider the question as something other than a joke.

"Oh, she's that, all right. Adrian, you have no idea. Not only is Arsule Knecht the wealthiest woman in the Confederacy — was, at least, before all this—"

"Still is," said Sallivar firmly. "She's really not 'crazy,' Helga. In some ways, she's saner than most. She took the precaution, over the past several months, to move almost all of her portable assets and wealth to her estates in Hagga. She's closely connected to the Haggen aristocracy, you know, on her mother's side. And since she's showered the Haggen with philanthropic enterprises for decades — she grew up there, on her mother's family estates — they think most highly of her."

Now that he was confident of the subject, Prit took the time to rise and refill his goblet. "As for her lands, she also had the good sense to keep them scattered all over the Confederacy. A big chunk in Hagga, another one in the east — still stable, you know? — relatively, at least." Easing back onto his couch, he shrugged. "She'll lose much of it, of course — either through. . Well, never mind. We can discuss that later."

Very firmly: "But it doesn't matter. She'll still come through all this the richest woman in the world. The richest person, for that matter. At least" — here, his confidence seemed to desert him a bit—"until your father's investments begin to return a profit."

"So that's it," said Helga. She gave her father a look which was not so much accusatory as speculative. "You're bankrupt, aren't you? Finer trappings than ever — and the coffers empty."

Demansk grimaced. "Crudely put, but — yes. Though 'bankrupt' isn't really the right word — no, I'm not glossing over anything! — because I'm actually wealthier than ever. But there's almost no cash left, Helga. And I've got a civil war to win — and quickly, before the Southrons return — and soldiers won't fight for promises. Much less some newfangled nonsense called 'stocks.' "

Sallivar smiled. "I believe your father neglected to mention that Lady Knecht is bringing thirty wagons with her. Only twenty of which are laden down with, ah, her enthusiasms."

"Wouldn't even put it that way," rumbled Nappur. "I spoke to her myself, when Prit and Enry and I went to Hagga to make the final negotiations." The giant ex-trooper's face was cheerfully grim. "I dare say she's even more enthusiastic on the subject of gutting Albrecht than she is her patronage of the arts. Right at the moment, for damn sure. Old Undreth's her uncle, you know — he's the Watchman who escaped the massacre at the Council — and he went into exile with her. Right horrid stories he's been telling her since. And none of them lies."

"She always despised Albrecht anyway, Helga," said Demansk. "I can remember, one time when we visited Arsule years ago — she was a friend of your mother's, you might consider that also—" He smiled at the memory of a long-ago conversation at a dinner table. "A very poetic — her rhetoric's excellent — and very detailed comparison of the virtues of Drav Albrecht and one of her pigs. The pig came off the winner, hands down."

But Helga wasn't really paying attention. Her eyes were a bit unfocused, as a person's get when they're trying to do calculations in their head. "Ten wagons full of cash? How big are the wagons?"

Firmly, in one voice, Sallivar and Nappur and Sharbonow together: " Big. "

Helga grinned. "I take back anything bad I ever said about the lady. Shocking, the way these slanders spread!"

Enry looked smug. "Wait'll you see the counteroffensive. I've got printing presses." He began counting off his fingers. "Patron of the arts and philosophies — that'll go down well here, among Emeralds—"

"Especially since half those wagonloads are sculptures we swiped from the Emeralds in the first place, now being restored." That from Demansk, who was beginning to feel a little smug himself.

"Indeed so. Then, benefactress of the poor. The rest of the nobility, most of them, never paid this much attention. But the fact is — gods, it's even true , and isn't that a change? — she's been the primary support of the Temple of Jassine for years."

Helga was startled. Jassine was the Goddess of Mercy. But, for all the official respect paid to her, not one whose temples were frequented by the nobility. "I didn't know that."

"She never made it public," explained Sallivar. "She's still not happy about changing that, but. . she agreed, after a protracted argument."

Enry was counting off a third finger. "Then, there's her public denunciation of Albrecht after the massacre. A good third of the aristocracy was appalled by the deed, y'know. Ion Jeschonyk was popular to begin with, and now he's a veritable martyr." He cleared his throat. "Along with courageous Tomsien, of course."

Hastening past that subject: "But she's the only one had the, ah, balls to denounce Albrecht in public. In the capital, at least. So that makes her a heroine, as well."

All his fingers were up now, and Enry was clearly prepared to count them all. He was an enthusiast as well as master of propaganda.

But Demansk cut him off. "Enough, for the moment. We can talk political tactics later. Right now. ."

His eyes fell on Adrian. The blue eyes, he realized, had never left his own face. For minutes, now, that oddly deep gaze had been studying Demansk to the exclusion of everything.

"If you'd all do me the favor — you too, Helga — I'd like to spend some time alone with my new son-in-law. We need to become better acquainted, I think."

A deep gaze. As if, somewhere inside, a man very much like Demansk himself was staring back at him. Blue eyes, bright with youth, which still seemed somehow shadowed. Not by grief, or remorse, or anguish. Simply by. . knowledge.

"Leave now," commanded the Triumvir. "I need this time alone."

* * *

Arsule Knecht arrived three days later. The dual wedding was held the following afternoon.

It seemed as if the whole city of Solinga turned out to watch. Along with, according to Sharbonow, half the Emeralds from the surrounding countryside.

And why not? Whatever else happened, for better or worse, the old days of Emerald humiliation were over. Either Verice Demansk would triumph, and the Emeralds would be able to recast the Confederacy much more to their liking. Or he would go down in defeat, in which case no Emerald doubted at all that Drav Albrecht would inflict much worse than humiliation upon them.

So, rejoice in the day and celebrate the weddings. And then, on the morn, pour back into the new shops where their lord and master's son and son-in-law were forging the instruments that might save the Emeralds as well as enrich them.