Harry Turtledove - After the downfall

"That wouldn't be easy," Velona said with a frown.

"No, not easy," Hasso agreed. "But worth trying, yes? Stop some of them from going to Bucovin, Grenye there know less. The more we stop, the less Bucovin finds out." I hope.

Velona couldn't issue the orders. Neither could Hasso, not by himself. The Lenelli who knew him personally took him seriously. To the ones who didn't, he would never be anything but a jumped-up outlander. So he took the idea to King Bottero. The King got it faster than Velona had. When he did, he kissed Hasso on both cheeks. He'd been eating onions, so Hasso appreciated the sentiment more than the kisses themselves.

"Who would have imagined such a thing?" Bottero boomed after releasing Hasso from his embrace. "The goddess knew what she was doing when she sent you to us, all right."

To Hasso's way of thinking, anyone who didn't take those elementary precautions was asking to have his head handed to him. Were his own fourteenth-century ancestors this naive? If they were, it was a miracle any of them lived long enough to reproduce. Of course, the soldiers on both sides must have been equally inept, or somebody would have wiped the floor with somebody else.

"I'll send the order out to the east by sorcery, so we don't waste any more time," Bottero said — yes, he did get it.

"Not just to the east. To the north and south and west, too," Hasso said. "Seal the whole border." Now the king looked blank. "Grenye can go up or down to another Lenello kingdom, one without a closed border. Then they go to Bucovin," Hasso pointed out.

That got him kissed again. "You are as slippery as a slug, as sneaky as a serpent!" Bottero said. Hasso supposed those were compliments. The king went on, "I never would have thought of that — never, I tell you!"

Suppose Heinrich Himmler came from the Philippine Islands. That would probably make him more valuable to the Fuhrer, not less. He would still make a dandy security chief. But, as a manifest foreigner, he could never think of grabbing the topmost job for himself.

In Bottero's kingdom, Hasso was far more foreign than a Filipino in Berlin. Another country? He was from another world! He would never be king, not even with the goddess at his side and at his back. Security minister and technical adviser was as high as he could rise. He had the post. Now he needed to deliver the goods.

"Can magic help to find Grenye who want to go east?" he asked. "Grenye who go through the swamp, say, not by the built-up road?"

"Grenye who sneak through the swamp." Bottero tiptoed with his fingers on a tabletop to show what sneak meant. Hasso nodded his thanks; that was a useful verb for a security man to know. The king went on, "I'm no wizard myself, so I can't really tell you. Aderno could."

"Aderno and I, we are not happy with each other." Sometimes Hasso came out with phrases he'd read. They often made people smile. In Lenello as in German, the written language wasn't just the same as the spoken one.

Bottero smiled now… for a moment. Then he looked severe — and a man as large and tough as he was could look very severe indeed. "You serve the kingdom. You serve it well. Aderno was doing the same thing with that Grenye wench."

"Aderno serves Aderno with that Grenye wench," Hasso said stubbornly. "Aderno likes to hurt people. Fight with Grenye gives him a reason." He shook his head. That wasn't the word he wanted. "Gives him an excuse." That was what he wanted to say.

"He serves the kingdom." Bottero couldn't see anything else.

Hasso shrugged, seeing no point in arguing with his sovereign. National Socialist doctrine shouted that that psychiatrist in Vienna was nothing but a crazy damn Jew. All the same, Hasso would have bet Deutschmarks against dung that Aderno had a big old bulge in his pants when he dragged Zadar off to what might literally have been a fate worse than death.

"You serve the kingdom, too," Bottero reminded him. "You and Aderno both serve the same goal. So you should get along with each other."

That was logical. As far as Hasso was concerned, it was also next to impossible. "I would rather kill him than get along with him… your Majesty," he said.

The king stared at him. At first, Hasso thought he'd badly offended Bottero. Then he realized Bottero was fighting hard not to laugh. The king lost the fight. "You fell from beyond the moon," he said between snorts. Hasso nodded. That wasn't so very different from his own thought of a little while before. Bottero went on, "You fell all that way — and you're just as touchy and proud as a Lenello born a short spit from my palace."

Hasso clicked his heels, which showed once more how foreign he was. But his words said the opposite: "I am a man, your Majesty."

"Well, Velona told me the same thing," Bottero said.

"What? That she is a man? Don't believe her."

Bottero snorted again. "If she told me that, I wouldn't believe her. I know better, and so do you." He grimaced; he must have remembered that his sharing Velona didn't make Hasso happy. Before the German could say anything, Bottero continued, "No, she told me you were a man, and it's so. And you're a man I need. That's so, too."

"And Aderno?" Hasso asked.

"Is also a man I need," the king said. "Don't try to kill him unless you really have to. If you do try, you may find that wizards take a deal of killing, and sometimes they aren't dead even after they die."

Thinking fondly of his Schmeisser, Hasso said, "I take the chance."

Detachments from west of Drammen, and from north and south, flowed into the capital, some by river, others by road. Soldiers camped inside Castle Drammen, and on the wide grounds of the Lenello estates around it. They swarmed into the Grenye districts closer to the walls. When they came back, most of them were drunk. Some had unfortunate diseases. Several got their belt pouches slit.

A couple of them got their throats slit instead. Several Grenye also ended up dead, some in fair fights, others, by all appearances, slaughtered for the sport of it. Hasso had seen that the Grenye districts had plenty of brothels. Not all the Lenelli bothered going to them. If some warriors saw a short, dark woman whose looks they liked, they went and took her. If she wasn't a whore, she was only a Grenye.

How many times had Hasso heard that phrase since coming here? More often than he wanted to: he knew that. He didn't bother taking his worries to Bottero; the king wouldn't do anything about it. Instead, he talked to Velona, asking, "Does the goddess like what the soldiers do to women who don't want it or deserve it?"

"They're soldiers," she answered with a shrug. "They act that way because that's how soldiers act. What can you do about it?"

"Me?" With a sour laugh, Hasso jabbed a thumb at his own chest. "I can't do anything. I am only a man, and only a foreigner at that."

"Not only a man. Quite a man," Velona purred.

"I thank you." Hasso hoped she'd talked to Bottero that way. He tried not to let her distract him now. It wasn't easy, but he managed. 'I can't do anything, no. But can you? You are the goddess. Does the goddess care for women, or not?"

"Of course she does." Velona paused. "I am not the goddess. Sometimes the goddess is me. It's not the same thing." Now Hasso shrugged. It came close enough for him. He knew he would never understand the difference, not unless or until a god possessed him. He didn't think that was likely. It might not be impossible here, but even so… Velona went on, "If she wants me to do anything about those Grenye sluts, I'm sure she'll tell me about it."

Some of them weren't sluts. That was the point Hasso kept trying to make, the point none of the Lenelli wanted to see. Instead of banging away at it, he tried a different tack: "Next time she is in you, maybe you should ask her. Maybe she needs a question to think about it."