Harry Turtledove - Jaws of Darkness

“No, sir. I have no idea.”

His interrogator glanced over at the mage, who’d been muttering to himself during the questions and answers. The wizard spoke in Algarvian, punctuating his words with a fanciful shrug. The other redhead, the one who spoke Jelgavan badly, cried out in obvious disbelief. The mage shrugged again. Talsu’s interrogator tried a different tack: “Are you shielded against magecraft?”

“No, sir,” Talsu said.

“Have you ever had a shielding spell laid on you?”

“Not since I went into the army,” Talsu answered. “I know they tried to protect soldiers as best they could.”

The Algarvian waved that aside with an impatient gesture. “Do you know of anyone in Skrunda with reason to dislike Algarve?”

“Of course I do,” Talsu exclaimed. “I don’t much like your kingdom myself. Why should I, after your soldier stuck a knife in me and then walked free?”

More back-and-forth between the interrogator and the mage. Talsu knew he’d told nothing but the truth. Of course, the Algarvian hadn’t asked the right questions. The interrogator said, “Think what you will, but we are not unjust. You may go. Your answers set you free.”

“Thanks,” Talsu said, and found himself meaning it. This had indeed been easier than he’d expected. As he left the constabulary station, he couldn’t help wondering how the mage’s truth spell would have judged the Algarvian’s claim of justice. He didn’t know, but he had his own opinion.

Back in the days when Leudast was a common soldier or a sergeant, nobody in the villages the Unkerlanter army recaptured from the Algarvians ever paid any particular attention to him. Now that he was a lieutenant, he was discovering things were rather different. When the spring thaw started, his company was billeted in and around a village east of Herborn called Leiferde. He knew they would be billeted there for a while, too; hip-deep mud glued Unkerlanters and Algarvians alike in place for weeks each spring.

As company commander, he’d chosen a house in the village as his own temporary home. He would have done-he had done-exactly the same thing when commanding the company while still a sergeant. But when he’d done so while still a sergeant, the peasants on whom he’d been billeted had treated him like one of themselves.

That hadn’t bothered him. Hewas a peasant, from a long line of peasants. The only difference between him and these Grelzer farmers was his accent, which announced he came from the northeast of Unkerlant, up near the border with Forthweg.

Having those little brass stars on his collar tabs, though, put things in a new light. The peasants in Leiferde bowed and scraped before him. As often as not, they called himyour Excellency.

His own men figured out what was going on before he did. With a grin, SergeantKiun said, “Do you know what it is, sir?” When Leudast shook his head, Kiun’s grin got wider than ever. “I’ll tell you what it is. What it is is, they think you’re a nobleman.”

“A nobleman?” Leudast stared at his comrade. That idea had never entered his mind, not even for a moment. “You’re bloody daft, is what you are.”

“By the powers above, I’m not,” Kiun retorted.

“Lookat me,” Leudast said. “Do I look like a nobleman to you? I need a shave. My tunic’s filthy. There’s dirt under my fingernails. There’s dirt ground into my knuckles, too, so deep no steambath’ll ever sweat it out. You think nobles have dirty hands?”

“Thereis a war on, in case you haven’t noticed.” Kiun shrugged. “You can let ‘em know you’re just a nobody, if that’s what you want to do. I’ll tell you something, though: you’ve got a lot better chance of getting the girl in that hut where you’re staying to put out for you if she thinks she might have a baron’s bastard than if you’re just hoping she decides you’re a handsome whoreson… sir.”

Leudast raised an eyebrow. Now Kiun had his attention. “You think so?” he said. “Alize isn’t bad, is she?”

“Well, I wouldn’t throw her out of bed,” Kiun said, “not that she’s likely to end up in mine. But I haven’t done too bad for myself. I may not be an officer, but I know what I want and I know how to get it. If you want, sir, everybody in the company’ll talk you up for a blueblood. You’ve taken care of us. We can take care of you.”

“You don’t need to go that far.” Leudast paused and scratched the side of his jaw. “But I don’t suppose you have to go out of your way to tell people I know how to muck out a barn at least as well as they do, either.” Kiun laughed, nodded, winked, and went on his way.

A nobleman? Me? Leudast still found the idea absurd. It was, in fact, absurd for several reasons, not least that Unkerlanter nobility wasn’t what it had been back in the days before the Six Years’ War. A lot of nobles had fallen fighting Algarve then. A lot more had sided with Kyot, Swemmel’s brother, in the madness of the Twinkings War afterwards. Few who’d made that mistake remained among the living. AndKingSwemmel had gone right on getting rid of noblemen who met his displeasure all through his reign. The Algarvians had killed many more in this war. One reason the Unkerlanter army had so many officers without breeding was that there weren’t nearly enough nobles to fill the required slots.

Then Leudast stopped thinking of absurdities and started thinking of Alize. She was a few years younger than he, which put her somewhere around twenty. She had bright eyes and very white teeth and a shape even the long, baggy tunics Unkerlanter women wore couldn’t disguise. She’d given him plenty of pleasant smiles. If she wanted to give him more than smiles, he wouldn’t mind at all.

For the time being, all he could do was think about it. He squelched through Leiferde and the surrounding fields, making sure his men were ready to fight in case the Algarvians attacked in spite of the mud-and making sure they were ready to go forward in case his own superiors gave the word. He hoped his own superiors would have the good sense to do no such thing, but years as a common soldier and a sergeant had taught him not to rely on his superiors’ good sense.

When he got back to the house where he was billeted, he was all over mud. Alize’s mother, a brisk, handsome woman called Bertrude, gave him a bucket of hot water from the kettle over the stove and a rag. “Here you are, your Excellency,” she said. “This may not be so fine as you’re used to, sir, but it should do the job.”

She sounded more deferential than she had before. Had Kiun been telling tales? Leudast could hardly ask her. All he said was, “It will do fine,” and cleaned himself off as best he could.

Bertude’s husband, whose name was Akerin, rarely stirred from the bench where he was sitting. He had a jar of spirits beside him. Leudast had never seen him without a jar of spirits beside him. A lot of Unkerlanter peasants passed their winters that way. He’d done it himself.

Bertrude bustled over and poured Leudast a mug of spirits. “This will help warm you up, too, sir,” she said.

“Well, so it will.” Leudast drank. The spirits were potent, but no more so than he’d had back home. He pointed to a pot bubbling beside the hot-water kettle. “The stew smells good.”

“I’m glad it suits you, your Excellency,” Bertrude said, and dropped him a curtsy, as if she were a duchess herself. Aye, Kiun ‘s been running off at the mouth, Leudast thought. The peasant woman went on, “Alize there put it together. She’s a fine cook, Alize is, a fine cook-better than I was at the same age, I’m sure.”

Alize was mending a tunic. Hearing her name, she looked up and smiled at Leudast. As an experiment, he bowed to her. Though her skin was as swarthy as his own, he saw her blush. “Why don’t you let me have some?” he said.