“They have, too,” Reznick said. “About half of Rustengo’s docks are awash, and the harbor area is salt swamp.”
“It’ll get worse,” Warner promised. “Still, you guys had a good setup. Got titles and everything.” He chuckled. “I don’t remember Dirstvar giving out city knighthoods to mercenaries.”
Ben Murphy chuckled. “Yeah, but I like the ring of it. ‘Benjamin Murphy do Dirstvar sounds better’n Private Murphy, CIA. . .”
“So why’d you give up all that?”
“Did we? You told that MP we were ‘star lords.’ I heard you.”
“Well, it’s a little complicated,” Warner said. “Far as the locals are concerned, you’re important merchant traders from the south. That’s near enough to noble, up here. But I’d act real respectful to Sergeant Major, was I you. And Art Mason’s an officer now.”
“Suits us,” Reznick said. “We want to get along here.”
Murphy nodded agreement. “Yeah. It’s pretty bad down south, Larry. Damn all, it’s getting worse, and nobody down there is going to watch our backs. We had each other, and Lafe’s wives, and nothing.” He stopped for a second, then went on. “Used to be, I had a wife. Nomads killed her. Lafe and I hunted the bastards for a ten-day. Hell with that. Anyway, one day the pistols will run dry. Or somebody’ll catch us and torture us for our secrets. You heard the fables, about what they do to the Little People here?”
Warner nodded. “Grim fairy tales indeed.”
“So when we heard Colonel Parsons had bought it, and the rest of the troops was doing all right and there wasn’t even any war to fight~-well, I figure Cap’n Galloway will take care of us. He always tried when we was back home.”
They stood on the balcony behind the musicians and looked down at the grand hall with its kaleidoscope of colors. The granite walls had been hung with tapestries and rich colors, but the place still had a fortress-like look to it. Nearly everything on Tran did.
The musicians seemed in good form. Someone had brought up wineskins, and clay goblets were going around freely. Every few minutes someone raised a toast to the Infanta Isobel, and everyone had another drink. The music seemed mostly strings and drums, with little of the thin reedy wails that Murphy had become used to in the south. Most of the music was incomprehensible, but sometimes they struck up tunes Murphy recognized. “The Girl I Left Behind Me,” the drinking song from Student Prince, “Garry Owens”…
Murphy estimated three hundred people were crammed into a hail built for half that many, and all were wearing their best clothes, which meant the most colorful.
“There’s a hell of a lot of those MP’s out there,” Reznick said. “Who are they?”
“Well, technically they’re Guardsmen to Mac Clallan Muir,” Warner said.
“Mac which?”
“Mac Clallan Muir. Look, Captain Galloway—there he is, recognize him?—Captain Galloway married the Lady Tylara do Tamaerthon, widow and dowager countess—well the local title is Eqetassa, but that’s pretty well countess—of Chelm. That made the Captain Eqeta. Lady Tylara’s father is an old clan chief named Drumold. Tamaerthon has a goofy system of titles that nobody understands, but Mac Clallan Muir is Drumold’s most important one. He made his son-in-law his war chief.”
“War chief,” Reznick said. “Of what?”
“In theory, of all of Tamaerthon,” Warner said. “In practice, Captain Galloway’s war leader of all the clans that’ll take orders from Drumold. That’s most of ‘em, but not all. There. That’s Drumold over there.” He pointed to a man in bright kilts studded with silver pins. He wore a dozen gold bracelets, and several gaudy necklaces. Warner noticed Murphy’s grin. “Yeah, I think so too, but you better never say nothin’ he can hear. Old bastard’ll split your liver in a second, and don’t think the Captain would do much about it, either.
“Anyway, back to the MP’s. As war chief of the clans, Captain Galloway was entitled to a bodyguard. What he did was have Art Mason recruit a whole mess of ‘em, lots more than anybody expected, and use ‘em for military police. Not just young nobles, either. Kids from different clans. Even clanless ones, and freed slaves—”
“So now the only clan they’ve got is Captain Galloway,” Murphy said.
“Yeah. Exactly,” Warner said. “Smart of you.”
“Just like us,” Reznick said. “But where do we fit in?”
“Sort of like a headquarters company,” Warner said. “First thing is you’ll probably be posted back to the University and told to write down everything you remember. Everything. Then there’s the travelling schools. You’ll learn about them. Main thing to remember is that Captain Galloway’s our boss and we’re all right if we don’t forget it.”
“But these MP types. Excuse me, but this is Drantos. Tamaerthon isn’t even a part of this kingdom, is it?”
“No. But remember they’re supposed to be Captain Galloway’s bodyguards, and he’s the host this tenday. Outside the palace Art’s MP’s wouldn’t have any jurisdiction ‘cause we’re not in Tamaerthon, but Lord Rick—that’s what they call the captain here—theoretically put them under the command of the Lord Protector. That one.”
He pointed to a big scar-faced man with a perpetual scowl. “So they’re keeping order in the kingdom as well as in this palace,” Warner finished.
“And Corporal Mason takes orders from that Protector guy?”
“Major Mason. Sure he does,” Warner said. “Sure.”
“Christ, this is worse than the south,” Reznick muttered.
Warner laughed. “Just getting started, Lafe. See those two? There, and on the other side of the room-”
“Yeah?”
“Romans. The one on the right is ambassador of the Emperor Flaminius—”
“And the other one from Marselius,” Murphy finished. “Yeah. We’ve got a lot to tell the Captain about that situation.”
“Oh? Like what?”
Murphy looked thoughtful. “Larry, not that we don’t trust you, but the only thing we got left to deal is information. How about I tell the Captain, and he tells you?”
Warner chuckled. “We’re learning, Ben. You’re learning. Shall we go downstairs and join the party? Your ladies and friends will be along in a minute. Try to stay sober, and for God’s sake don’t insult anybody.”
3
Rick’s head was bursting. Hangover remedies didn’t work any better on Tran than on Earth. Not as well. There was precious little aspirin on Tran, and a lot more fusel oils in the liquor.
“Two hours and I’m for the Grand Council,” Rick said. “Holy Yatar, my head is killing me—”
“You earned it,” Tylara said. “I thought you had determined to drink all the wine in Edros.”
Close to right, Rick thought. I don’t do that too often, but last night—Oh, well. What’s really irritating her is that I was too drunk to pay attention to her after the party. “You will come to Grand Council, of course.”
“Of course,” she said. “Shall I accompany you now?”
“I think no,” Rick said. “I think I’ll get more information if I talk to them in English.”
“As you will.”
“Dammit, I’m not keeping secrets from you.” He went to put his hands on her shoulders, but she seemed to draw away from him. “All right. I’ll see you in Council.” He left the bedroom hoping that she would call him back, but she said nothing.
He went downstairs to the stone chamber he’d had fitted out as a situation room, a copy of his offices in Tamaerthon. There were maps painted on three walls; the fourth was blank white, with charcoal nearby to write with. A big wooden slab table filled the room’s center. Benches surrounded it; benches weren’t comfortable, and that made for short meetings. In contrast, Rick’s chair at the head of the table had been specially carved for him, with padded seat and thick arm rests. If need be he could out-sit those who argued with him in this room. “Ten-shun!” Elliot commanded as Rick came in.
The troopers around the table stamped to their feet. Murphy and Reznick seemed a bit surprised, but they didn’t object. Rick said nothing until he had taken his place at the table’s head and sat down. Then he nodded. “At ease,” Elliot said.
“Thought we left that crap behind with Parsons,” Murphy muttered.
“That’ll do,” Sergeant Major Elliot said sharply. He didn’t like people who talked back to officers. Elliot’s idea of perfection was an officer who knew his place commanding troopers who knew theirs. Of course the Sergeant Major was indispensable under any such scheme…
“Two reasons for this meeting,” Rick said. “To find out what you know about the southern situation, and to bring you up to speed about the mission here. I’ll start off.”
Only where? he wondered. There’s so damned much they don’t know. So damned much I don’t know. Humpty Dumpty told Alice to begin at the beginning and go through to the end. Then stop. But if I do that I’ll be here all day.
“First, the basic mission hasn’t changed,” Rick said. “We’re here to grow crops for the Shalnuksis, and if we don’t grow their damned surinomaz they won’t trade with us, meaning no more modem conveniences. So we’ve no choices there.”