Django Wexler - The Thousand Names

“My pleasure, sir.”

Marcus opened his eyes. “Speaking of the colonel. .”

“Yes, sir?”

“It appears he’ll be requiring my services, at least part of the time. I’ll be relying on you to take care of the First.”

Properly speaking, Marcus should have had at least two more field lieutenants to whom he could delegate command authority in his absence so that his staff lieutenant could concentrate on staff work. As it was, though, Fitz wore all the hats, sometimes simultaneously.

“Of course, sir. No need to worry on that score.” He hesitated. “If I may, sir. .”

Marcus sipped at the tea and waved a hand. “Hmm?”

“What’s your impression of the colonel?”

“He’s. .” Marcus paused, thinking. “He’s very clever.”

Fitz frowned. “Clever” was not a good thing in the lexicon of the common soldier. Clever officers came up with elaborate plans that backfired at just the wrong moment and got you killed.

“He’s a count,” Marcus went on, “but he doesn’t stand on privilege. Likable, I suppose, but there’s something”-he thought of those eyes, gray and judging-“something a little odd . I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I’ve just met the man myself.”

“Has he given you any indication what he plans to do?”

Before Marcus could reply, there was a knock at the outer door. Fitz hurried off to answer it, and Marcus turned back to the papers in front of him, trying to bully his eyes into focus. He took a long drink and let it sit on his tongue, warm and bitter.

A cough made him look up again and swallow hurriedly. Fitz stood at the inner doorway. His expression was as officially blank as usual, but the barest hint of an arched eyebrow indicated that something strange was afoot.

“There’s someone to see you,” the lieutenant said. “A Miss Jennifer Alhundt.”

Marcus was taken aback. “Really?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Show her in, I suppose.” Marcus straightened up and tugged at his collar, peripherally aware of the sweaty patches that were beginning to show through his dress blues.

The woman was pale, even for a Vordanai. She had the look of someone who’d spent too much time indoors, an impression enhanced by watery eyes behind silver-rimmed spectacles. Her hair was long and dark, tied back in a severe braid. She wore a thin brown coat over a shapeless cotton blouse and brown trousers. When Marcus had left Vordan, a well-bred woman wearing trousers would have been, if not a scandal, at least the occasion for much comment. He wondered idly if all the noble ladies had traded their frilly dresses for boyish leggings since then. Stranger things had happened in the world of high fashion.

He got to his feet as she entered, and sketched a bow, which she returned awkwardly. Her spectacles threatened to fall off, and she caught them automatically and pushed them back up her nose with a well-practiced motion.

“Welcome, Miss Alhundt. I’m Captain Marcus d’Ivoire. Will you sit down?” He paused, suddenly painfully aware that he had just asked a lady to squat on the bare floor. He coughed to cover his embarrassment. “Fitz, fetch a cushion for Miss Alhundt, would you?”

“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

They settled themselves on opposite sides of Marcus’ crude desk, and she peered at him through thick lenses in the manner of a naturalist studying some surprising insect. Marcus was still trying to work out a polite way to ask what the hell she was doing here when she said, “I expect you’re wondering what I’m doing here.”

He shrugged, and waved desperately at Fitz, who bustled off. “Would you like some tea?”

“Please,” she said. “I came in with the fleet, of course. I’m on assignment.”

“What sort of assignment?”

“His Grace was instructed by His Majesty to gather an independent perspective on events in Khandar.”

Marcus froze. “His Grace?”

“His Grace, Duke Orlanko,” she clarified. “I’m with the Ministry of Information.”

Fitz appeared with the tea, which saved Marcus from having to think of an immediate response to that. Miss Alhundt accepted the mug from the lieutenant, sipped, and resumed staring at Marcus.

“The Ministry of Information,” Marcus said eventually. “May I ask in what. . capacity?”

“Only a poor scholar, I’m afraid.” She gave a tight little smile. “I know our reputation, Captain, but I assure you that His Grace employs many more scribes than he does spies and assassins.”

Miss Alhundt certainly didn’t look like a spy or assassin. She had the air of someone more comfortable with books than people. But everyone in Vordan knew about the all-seeing eye and long reach of Duke Orlanko’s Concordat.

“And you mentioned a royal order?” he said, buying time.

She nodded. “His Majesty was concerned that the reports we’d been receiving from Khandar might be. . inadequate. In view of our expanded commitment and the situation here, he thought it expedient to try to get a disinterested view of how things stand. That isn’t easy to do through military channels.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.” Marcus shifted uncomfortably. “So what is it that you need from me?”

“I just thought I would introduce myself.” She favored him with a smile, showing pretty white teeth. “I’m afraid my experience in the field is rather limited, and I’m sure I’ll be relying a great deal on you and the other officers for your opinions.”

“I thought you were supposed to get an unbiased view of things.”

“I will present your views along with my own opinions,” Miss Alhundt said. “That way, His Majesty and His Grace will have all the available information. Things have certainly been confused lately.”

Marcus could imagine that. He’d written only one hasty report during the retreat, and it was unlikely that even that had reached the capital by now. His Grace must be groping in the dark.No wonder he sent some of his own people along. But her?

“I’ll do whatever I can,” he said. “You understand, though, that this is now Colonel Vhalnich’s command. My opinions may not count for very much anymore.”

“I’ll be speaking to the colonel, too, of course,” she said briskly. “I take it you’ve met him?”

“I received him this afternoon.”

“Would you care to offer your impression?”

“I wouldn’t,” Marcus said. Gossiping with Fitz was one thing, but talking about a senior officer to a civilian was deeply taboo, even if that civilian didn’t work for the secret police.

“Fair enough,” Miss Alhundt said, still smiling. “I understand.” Abruptly, she held her hand out across the table. “I do hope we can be friends, Captain d’Ivoire.”

Marcus shook awkwardly, again at a loss. Miss Alhundt sipped, handed her teacup to Fitz, and got to her feet.

“And now, I imagine you have work to do,” she said. “I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.”

Once the young woman had swept back out the door, Marcus looked up at his aide. “Do I have work to do?”

“Yes,” Fitz said. “But first you’re having dinner with the colonel, remember?”

• • •

The door to Janus’ quarters opened at Marcus’ approach, revealing a liveried servant with a haughty expression. Marcus, caught off guard, sketched a slight bow, and received a nod in return.

“I’m Captain d’Ivoire,” he said. “The colonel’s expecting me.”

“Of course, sir.” The manservant, a pinch-faced man with a shock of white hair who couldn’t have been younger than fifty, gave Marcus a somewhat deeper nod and a disapproving stare. “Come in.”

“Ah, Captain!” called Janus from inside. “Augustin, you can get dinner started.”