Poul Anderson - A Knight of Ghosts and Shadows

“Thank you, Donna. I endeavor to give satisfaction. Although, in candor, Sir Dominic provided my initial training and the impetus to develop further.”

Kossara drew a long breath. A chance to learn about him? “ You were his slave, you said. How did that happen, if I may ask?”

Chives spoke imperturbably, never breaking the rhythm of his work. “My planet of origin has no technologically advanced society, Donna. His late Majesty Josip appointed a sector governor who organized a slave trade in my people, chiefly selling to the barbarians beyond the limes. The charges against those captured for this purpose were, shall we say, arguable; but no one argued. When that governor met with misfortune, his successor attempted to right matters. However, this was impossible. Not even victims still within the Empire could be traced, across thousands of worlds. Sir Dominic merely chanced upon me in a provincial market.

“I was not prepossessing, Donna. My owner had put me up for sale because he doubted I could survive more labor in his mercury mine. Sir Dominic did not buy me. He instigated a game of poker which lasted several days and left him in possession of mine and workers alike.”

Chives clicked his tongue. “My former master alleged cheating. Most discourteous of him, especially compared to Sir Dominic’s urbanity in inviting him out. The funeral was well attended by the miners. Sir Dominic arranged for their repatriation, but kept me since this was far from Shalmu and, besides, I required a long course of chelating drugs to cleanse my system. Meanwhile he employed me in his service. I soon decided I had no wish to return to a society of … natives … and strove to make myself valuable to him.”

Head cocked, chin in hand, tail switching, Chives studied the lunch layout. “Yes, I believe this will suffice. Akvavit and beer for beverages, needless to say. Since you wish occupation, Donna, you may assist me in setting the table.”

She scarcely heard. “ Maze, if he’s a decent man,” she blurted, “how can he work for an Empire that lets things like, like your case happen?”

“I have oftener heard Sir Dominic described in such terms as—ah—for example, a slightly overexcited gentleman once called him a cream-stealing tomcat with his conscience in his balls, if you will pardon the expression, Donna. The fact is, he did cheat in that poker game. But as for the Empire, like the proverbial centenarian I suggest you consider the alternative. You will find tableware in yonder cabinet.”

Kossara bit her lip and took the hint.

“To the best of my admittedly circumscribed knowledge,” Chives said after silver, china, and glass (not vitryl) stood agleam upon snowy linen, “your folk have, on the whole, benefited from the Empire. Perhaps I am misinformed. Would you care to summarize the history for me while the spiced meatballs are heating?”

His slim emerald form squatted down on the deck. Kossara took a bench, stared at her fists resting knotted on her lap, and said dully:

“I don’t suppose the details, six hundred years of man on Dennitza, would interest anybody else. That is how long since Yovan Matavuly led the pioneers there. They were like other emigrant groups at the time, hoping not alone for opportunity, room to breathe, but to save traditions, customs, language, race—ethnos, identity, their souls if you like—everything they saw being swallowed up. They weren’t many, nor had the means to buy much equipment. And Dennitza … well, there are always problems in settling a new planet, physical environment, biochemistry, countless unknowns and surprises that can be lethal—but Dennitza was particularly hard. It’s in an ice age. The habitable areas are limited. And in those days it was far from any trade routes, had nothing really to attract merchants of the League—”

Speaking of the ancestors heartened her. She raised head and voice. “They didn’t fall back to barbarism, no, no. But they did, for generations, have to put aside sophisticated technology. They lacked the capital, you see. Clan systems developed; feuding, I must admit; a spirit of local independence. The barons looked after their own. That social structure persisted when industrialism began, and affected it.” Quickly: “Don’t think we were ever ignorant yokels. The Shkola—university and research centrum—is nearly as old as the colony. The toughest backwoodsman respects learning as much as he does marksmanship or battle bravery.”

“Do you not have a Merseian element in the population?” Chives asked.

“Yes. Merseian-descended, that is, from about four hundred years ago. You probably know Merseia itself was starting to modernize and move into space then, under fearful handicaps because of that supernova nearby and because of the multi-cornered struggle for power between Vachs, Gethfennu, and separate nations. The young Dennitzan industries needed labor. They welcomed strong, able, well-behaved displaced persons.”

“Do such constitute a large part of your citizenry, Donna?”

“About ten percent of our thirty million. And twice as many human Dennitzans live outsystem; since our industry and trade got well underway, we’ve been everywhere in that part of space. So what is this nonsense I hear about us being Merseian-infiltrated?”

Yet we might be happier in the Roidhunate, Kossara added.

Chives recalled her: “I have heard mention of the Gospodar. Does my lady care to define his functions? Is he like a king?”

“M-m-m, what do you mean by ‘king’? The Gospodar is elected out of the Miyatovich family by the plemichi, the clan heads and barons. He has supreme executive authority for life or good behavior, subject to the Grand Court ruling on the constitutionality of what he does. A Court verdict can be reversed by the Skuptshtina—Parliament, I suppose you would say, though it has three chambers, for plemichi, commons, and ychani … zmayi … our nonhumans. Domestic government is mainly left to the different okruzhi—baronies? prefectures?—which vary a lot. The head of one of those may inherit office, or may be chosen by the resident clans, or may be appointed by the Gospodar, depending on ancient usage. He—such a nachalnik, I mean—he generally lets townships and rural districts tend their own affairs through locally elected councillors.”

“The, ah, ychani are organized otherwise, I take it.”

Kossara gave Chives a look of heightened respect. “Yes. Strictly by clans—or better say Vachs—subject only to planetary law unless there’s some special fealty arrangement. And while you can find them anywhere on Dennitza, they concentrate on the eastern seaboard of Rodna, the main continent, in the northern hemisphere. Because they can stand cold better than humans, they do most of the fishing, pelagiculture, et cetera.”

“Nevertheless, I presume considerable cultural blending has taken place.”

“Certainly—”

Recollection rushed in of Trohdwyr, who died on Diomedes whither she was bound; of her father on horseback, a-gallop against a windy autumn forest, and the bugle call he blew which was an immemorial Merseian war-song; of her mother cuddling her while she sang an Eriau lullaby, “ Dwynafor, dwynafor, odhal tiv,” and then laughing low, “But you, little sleepyhead, you have no tail, do you?”; of herself and Mihail in an ychan boat on the Black Ocean, snowfall, ice floes, a shout as a sea beast magnificently broached to starboard; moonlit gravbelt flight over woods, summer air streaming past her cheeks, a campfire glimpsed, a landing among great green hunters, their gruff welcome; and, “I’m not hungry,” Kossara said, and left the saloon before Chives or, worse, Flandry should see her weep.