Rob Scott - The Larion Senators

‘I’m sorry, sir?’ The voice was male, a soldier, probably. Jacrys guessed he had been straightening up the room.

‘Where’s Thadrake?’

‘The captain, sir? Uh, he’s downstairs, sir, eating a bit of supper.’

Jacrys took a deep breath. It wasn’t much; he guessed something less than half his left lung inflated, and that was with painful effort. When he inhaled, his breath made a sound like air being blown through a hollow tree. Breathing out was even worse, wet and rattling, like wagon wheels rolling over loose gravel.

‘Get him now,’ he managed. Three words without panting. Gods…

‘Would you like some broth, sir? Maybe some soft bread?’

‘Wine or beer,’ Jacrys murmured, ‘I don’t care which.’

Jacrys let his body relax as the soldier hurried to do his bidding. He concentrated on his breathing – in through a hollow tree and out over loose gravel, hollow tree, loose gravel, again and again – until he fell asleep.

‘Sir?’ Captain Thadrake was young and trim and looked good in his uniform. He’d been ingratiating himself to Colonel Pace, perhaps even to General Oaklen – it wouldn’t be long before Captain Thadrake became Commander Thadrake, or even Major Thadrake. If he kept from making any big mistakes or from getting himself, or his company, into any trouble, he might end up serving Prince Malagon as an Eastland colonel. That’s a no-win appointment, Jacrys thought.

‘Wine?’ Jacrys licked his split and swollen lips.

The captain bent to help him drink. ‘Take your time, sir. I’ve got plenty.’

Jacrys drank, revelling in the familiar flavour. It wasn’t the best he’d ever tasted, but given the circumstances, it was a drink worthy of the gods. ‘Am I dying?’ he asked. He wasn’t one to hide from the bald truth. He stared up at the good-looking captain.

‘No sir; you’re a gods-rutting mess, sir, but you’ll live.’ He offered more wine, but Jacrys shook his head. ‘Two partisans broke in here, hoping to kill you,’ Thadrake continued. ‘They started a fire in the encampment, sneaked past the overnight watch, killed Hendrick, my assistant, and then stabbed you, sir. It was-’

‘Sallax and Brexan,’ Jacrys interrupted, wheezing. ‘I saw them here.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘More, please.’

Thadrake was surprised to hear the Malakasian spy, usually a disagreeable bastard, say “please”. He held the goblet against Jacrys’ lips.

‘Malagon?’

‘No one has seen him, sir, not since the late-autumn Twinmoon. That’s about ninety days now, sir. There are all manner of rumours going about the city, but the only credible ones suggest that he’s gone into hiding, that he drowned on the Prince Marek the night it went down, or that he was blown up and the locals took his body as some kind of twisted prize. I don’t like thinking that one, sir, but it might have happened.’

Jacrys nodded. It would take too much effort to explain to the ambitious Captain Thadrake how little he cared.

‘And I’ve just heard from a lieutenant who supervises shipments down at the wharf that word is coming in that Bellan Whitward has gone missing as well.’

Jacrys breathed – hollow tree, loose gravel – and said, ‘So no one’s home at Welstar Palace? That’s interesting.’ His last words were lost behind an especially wet and noisy breath.

‘Correct, sir. There’s no one watching the store, so to speak.’

‘Oaklen?’

‘Gone east with the bulk of the division brought up here for the blockade. I think he’s going with them to Estrad, at least into Rona, to meet with the officers down there.’

‘And Pace?’ Jacrys was growing weary; even the few words he had managed were tiring him out.

‘The colonel was called away in a hurry, sir, some trouble in Wellham Ridge. One of his majors, Nell Tavon – do you know her, sir? She’s Malagon’s soldier to the core – has had some kind of breakdown. She’s run up into the hills with most of the Ridge battalion. Denne and Hershaw are the two captains. I don’t know much about Denne; he’s a bit older, but Hershaw and I trained together back in Averil Twinmoons ago. They managed to get a rider out with an urgent message to Colonel Pace. He mustered a guard and left as quickly as possible.’

Jacrys could not have cared less.

Thadrake held up the goblet. ‘More wine, sir?’

Jacrys nodded. Yes, Captain, keep it coming. I want to sleep tonight, not the drug-induced sleep of querlis, but the deep slumber of a good wine drunk. He swallowed deeply several times until Thadrake cut him off.

‘Whoa there, sir. This doesn’t mix well with the querlis.’ He set the goblet aside. ‘We’ll never get you up tomorrow.’

‘Brexan?’

‘No sign of her, sir. She just disappeared. If she’d been running with Sallax, then I guess she knows all the places along the waterfront where he was hiding.’ He shifted the bedside candle, throwing a bit more light onto Jacrys’ face. ‘I found them in a tavern I had been searching with a squad of Seron warriors from the blockade; Sallax was posing as a simpleton, and Brexan had been pretending to whore for the scullery staff. We overlooked them a couple times; Sallax was surprisingly convincing as an addled idiot. I guess there really was something wrong with him. Brexan must have known what she was doing to get the two of them into the barracks and all the way up here to your bedside without alerting anyone. We’re blanketing the waterfront with surprise searches. We haven’t found anything yet, but we will.’

No you won’t, you fool, Jacrys thought.

‘Are you sure you don’t want any food, sir?’ He produced a bowl of broth and a chunk of fresh bread. ‘I might be able to find a pastry or two in the city, even at this aven. I know you like those, sir.’

Jacrys braced himself, inhaled through his discomfort and said, ‘I want to go home.’

‘Home, sir?’

‘Tell Pace; tell Oaklen, you’re taking me home.’

‘To… Malakasia, sir?’

Jacrys nodded.

Thadrake tried to hide his enthusiasm. He hadn’t been home in nearly twenty Twinmoons, and while being stationed here at Oaklen’s command post was good for his career, escorting the prince’s personal espionage agent back home to retire, to die – to dance with a malodorous fat man from Port Denis, who cares? – would be a way to remain in Oaklen’s good graces, to serve the prince’s personal staff and to get back home for a Twinmoon or two. He would be packed and ready within the aven. ‘Shall I charter a boat, sir, or would you rather take a naval cutter?’

‘Private-’ Jacrys was fading. One eye fluttered shut, while the other found Thadrake. ‘Carpello’s yacht.’

‘Very good, sir. I’ll take care of that tomorrow and report back when it’s arranged.’ Thadrake paused. ‘Of course, I’ll have to check with General Oaklen’s healer as to when you can be moved.’

Jacrys managed a half-shake of his head. ‘Bring him,’ he whispered.

‘Bring him, sir?’ Thadrake beamed. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘And send riders.’

Captain Thadrake leaned in close to make out what his patient was saying. ‘Riders to Colonel Pace and General Oaklen?’ He couldn’t just leave; he had to ask. Pace and Oaklen needed to know, and grant their permission. His mind raced. ‘Where should I tell them we’re headed, sir? They’ll want to know where we’ve gone.’

‘Pellia,’ Jacrys whispered. ‘I have a safe house over the wharf in Pellia. I’ll stay there.’

‘Pellia.’ Thadrake waited for Jacrys to drift off, then gulped the rest of the wine. ‘Very well, sir,’ he said to the gaunt, sickly form lying asleep in the middle of the chamber, ‘I’ll tell them you’ve ordered us back to your home in Pellia. I’ll make the arrangements tomorrow, sir.’