Ylo blinked again at the terrible document and read it through again. He glanced longingly at the door to Shandie’s office, wondering if he dared go and reason with the maniac. He reluctantly decided that a future decapitation in Hub was worth two immediate decapitations in Gaaze. Shandie would brook such gross insubordination no better than his grandfather did.
The scribbled note at the top was meant for Ylo. It said merely, ”Confidential. Transcribe personally.”
The final document would be specially sealed and go in its own bag, weighted with lead in case the ship sank. It would arrive unopened in Emshandar’s hands. No one else would ever know that his grandson had delivered an ultimatum.
But the old man was almost blind. Personal letters had to be written with a special brush and a special black ink, in huge letters like a poster, a dozen or so words to the page. That was Ylo’s job.
So the imperor would know that at least one man was witness to his shame. That was possibly a death warrant all by itself, and if the imperor was aware that the flunky in question was a hated Yllipo, his vengeance would be certain. The letter was Ylo’s death warrant, just for reading it.
Ah, duty! The perils of a military career! With a sigh, he reached for his brush and the ink bottle, selected the largest sheet of vellum he could find in his drawer.
Life had been unspeakably hectic in the two months since the XIIth had limped into Gaaze, scorched, filthy, and exhausted. Ylo had been exhausted ever since. With his army disarmed and scattered, Shandie had been faced with the enormous task of refitting it in winter, when the passes were closed, while trying to guard against an elvish counterattack, which fortunately had not materialized. He had rebuilt everything from the bottom up, even as rumors of dragons sparked desertions on an enormous scale. Shandie had worked himself to a shadow and his staff to less than that.
And Shandie slept nights. Ylo didn’t, much.
Ylo had his own grand office in the proconsular palace. A side door led through to Shandie’s office. The main door led out into a hall where a hundred scribes labored. Unofficially, he was probably the second most powerful man in Qoble.
Oddly enough, he had not been using his power for his own gain. There just had not been time in his life and he had no need for money at the moment anyway. He hoped the wraiths of his more notorious ancestors were not too ashamed of him. Later, when Shandie was installed on the Opal Throne and appointed him praetor of a city somewhere, then he would loot the place and become rich. It was what was expected. It was the way things were done, and all Yllipos were born with a talent for jobbery. Meanwhile, he politely refused all bribes, moving the would-be donors to the bottom of the list. He had created considerable confusion in local affairs thereby, because no one had any experience of dealing with honest officials.
He yawned again.
“Sleeping sickness?” a waspish voice demanded. Little Sir Acopulo was standing in the doorway, pouting like a maiden aunt.
“No, it’s just that I was up all night.” Ylo displayed his most cherubic smile.
The pout grew to a scowl. “Signifer, you suffer from a complete lack of moral probity!”
“Suffer from it? I enjoy it enormously!”
The scowl became a grimace. “Have you received any mail?”
“Two invitations to balls, one threatening note from a husband, and three thank-you letters, but I think I can handle—”
“Don’t play dumb, Signifer. Your performance is much too convincing.”
“I don’t understand what you mean, sir.” Ylo widened his eyes to indicate bewilderment. Their daily sparring had become a tradition. He suspected that the prudish political advisor took it much more seriously than he did.
“I was inquiring if there had been any mail for me?”
Ylo scratched his head. “Yes, there was something addressed to you . . . No, maybe that was yesterday, or the day before.” He yawned as widely as he could.
The scholar glared and seemed about to depart. “Try to get more sleep, boy. You’re quite confused at times.”
“Ah! I recall. The prince asked me to ask you if `Raspnex’ is a dwarvish name.”
Acopulo’s little eyes narrowed. “Why does he want to know that?” He much preferred to converse with Shandie in private and hated reporting through Ylo.
Ylo shrugged, smiled innocently, and waited. The scholar admitted defeat. ”Yes, it is.”
“Thank you. I’ll tell him.” Ylo picked up his brush again, as if the conversation were over. He knew it wasn’t.
“Why did he want to know?”
“I can’t remember.”
“I shall ask him myself, then,” the little man said suspiciously.
Ylo smirked. “Go ahead.” Meaning he had not invented the question, of course.
Acopulo snorted and turned to leave. “Trade?” Ylo said softly.
“What does that mean?”
“I answer your question, you answer one of mine?”
“I am always willing to advance your education, as the need is so obvious.”
“Mm. I recall now that Lord Umpily had heard a rumor that Raspnex is the name of the new warden of the north.”
The little man nodded. “I half expected something like that.” Ylo wanted to ask him to prove it, but that would not be politic. “Now, my question! Dwarves and elves fight like dogs and cats. Why would Warlock Lith’rian ever have agreed to accept a dwarf on the White Throne?”
“He may just have been outvoted.”
“But he was strong enough to use his dragons against the legions in spite of the other two! So why would he let them foist a dwarf on him?”
“Bah! He accepted Raspnex in exchange for the dragons, of course. Obviously Raspnex was the price the elf paid to have the others let him chase you out of IIrane.” Acopulo’s thin lips pulled back in a sort of smile. ”Cheap at the price, maybe?” He disappeared from the doorway.
He was still guessing, though. No one would ever know for certain. Ylo sighed and set to work with his brush.
He put an enormous blot on the third word. He blanked out the first two, tossed the vellum aside, and reached for another sheet.
A tap on the door interrupted him. He looked up and squinted at a young tesserary nervously clutching a mail sack.
“Well, bring it!” Ylo snapped irritably. “I can’t read ‘em from there!”
The youngster hurried across the big room.
“Sorry,” Ylo muttered, remembering that Shandie never lost his temper, no matter how tired or overworked he was. “Forgive me. You open it and pick out the important stuff.”
Beaming at the honor thus granted, the kid pulled his sword to cut the seals. He unlaced the bag, tipped the contents out on the floor, and knelt down. One by one, letters and reports began lining up along the edge of the desk. Finally the tesserary rose. “There’s a lot of others here, Signifer.”
“That’s fine, Huff,” Ylo said, pleased at recalling the lad’s name. ”Thanks. That will be all.”
The kid saluted and marched to the door.
Come to think of it, Huil was probably older than Ylo. Ylo just felt old today, that was it.
Aha! Top priority! His practiced eye picked out the private seal of Princess Eshiala. He grabbed up the package and strode over to the inner door.
The proconsul’s office was a small ballroom. Ylo marched across a meadowland of mosaic floor to the desk in the center, where Shandie was in conference with some civic officials. He glanced up, frowning, then smiled as he saw the seal. He muttered his excuses to the visitors and slit open the letter.
Ylo had barely reached the door when he heard a yell and spun around. Shandie the Inscrutable? Shandie the Imperturbable?
“Ylo! Look at this!” Shandie the Inscrutable came racing across the great room, waving his letter, civic dignitaries forgotten. He thrust it under his signifer’s nose. “Recall!” he whispered urgently. “See? She says the old villain’s recalling me! As soon as my replacement . . . It’s right here, Ylo! At last!” He thumped his signifer on the back hard enough to make him stagger.
Ylo had never known the prince so excited. “Congratulations, sir. Then that letter to his Majesty . . .”
“What letter?” Shandie was hastily scanning the rest of his wife’s news and did not look up.
“Your letter to the imperor threatening . . . I mean, asking . . .”
“Oh that? Burn it, for the Gods’ sake! We’re going back to Hub, Ylo!” He grinned in triumph.
The news penetrated Ylo’s fog-filled brain. Hub! At last! Great!
“My wife!” Shandie sighed. “Did I ever mention that she is the most beautiful girl in the world?”
“I think you did remark on that, sir.” A million times. There were a million beautiful girls in Hub. Shandie could certainly have that one, if Ylo could have all the rest.