puddled at his feet, as if even it were looking for someplace to hide.
The Unkerlanter ignored the heat. He had a carriage waiting outside. The driver-also hatless, and a bald man to boot-sat steaming under that merciless sun. Hajjaj hoped he wouldn’t keel over halfway to the Unkerlanter ministry.
The fellow who’d stormed into his office spoke to the driver in their own language, then held the carriage door open for Hajjaj-one of the few formal courtesies he’d ever had from an Unkerlanter. By the way the man slammed it shut after getting in behind the Zuwayzi foreign minister, that courtesy hadn’t come easy.
They got to the ministry unscathed. The driver kept right on sitting out in the open. “You really should let him come inside and cool off,” Hajjaj remarked. “This weather can kill, you know.”
“You worry about your business,” the Unkerlanter told him. “We will tend to ours.”
“Zuwayza has been saying that very thing to Unkerlant for centuries,” Hajjaj said. “Somehow, you never seem to listen.”
The fellow escorting him didn’t seem willing to listen. Unkerlanters, as Hajjaj had said, never did listen to their northern neighbors. Being badly outweighed, Zuwayzin had to listen to Unkerlanters, no matter how little they cared to. This particular Unkerlanter took Hajjaj straight to Minister Ansovald, and spoke two words in his own tongue: “He’s here.” Hajjaj was far from fluent in Unkerlanter, but had no trouble understanding that.
Ansovald glared at Hajjaj. Hajjaj had met the Unkerlanter minister’s glares before, and bore up under this one. When he didn’t immediately crumple and admit guilt, Ansovald shouted, “You treacherous son of a whore!”-in Algarvian, because Hajjaj didn’t have enough Unkerlanter to carry on diplomacy-if such this was-in that language.
“Good day, your Excellency,” Hajjaj said now. “As always, I am delighted to see you, too.”
Irony was wasted on Ansovald. Like so many of his countrymen, he seemed immune to both shame and embarrassment.
“We’re going to hang all those Algarvian bastards,” Ansovald shouted now. “And when we’re done with that, we’re liable to hang you, too. How far will that scrawny neck of yours stretch?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hajjaj said.
“Liar,” Ansovald said. What would have been an ugly truth from another man sounded like a compliment from him. “You’re hiding Balastro and a whole raft of other redheads in a stinking little town called Harran. We want ‘em. We’re going to get ‘em, too-or you’ll be sorry, and so will everybody else in this tinpot kingdom.”
“Even if I were to admit their presence, which I do not, on what grounds could you want them?” Hajjaj asked.
“Conspiracy to violate the Treaty of Tortusso by annexing Rivaroli. Conspiracy to wage war against Forthweg, Valmiera, Jelgava, Sibiu, Lagoas, Kuusamo,
Hajjaj winced. He hadn’t expected Ansovald to come up with such a detailed, and damning, indictment. No doubt a good many of the Algarvian refugees were guilty of those things. Still, he said, “If they had won the war, they could charge you with as many enormities as you blame them for now.”
Ansovald didn’t even waste time denying it. All he said was, “So what? The bastards lost. You can turn ‘em over to us, or we can bring in soldiers to come and get ‘em. That’s the only choice you’ve got, Hajjaj. King Swemmel isn’t playing games here, believe you me he isn’t.”
The last thing Hajjaj wanted was Unkerlanter soldiers in Zuwayza. If they came, would they ever leave?
“Maybe there isn’t, but there’s going to be,” the Unkerlanter minister to Zuwayza replied.
“Where is the justice in hanging a man for breaking a law that was not a law when he did what he did?” Hajjaj asked.
“Futter justice,” Ansovald said. “We’re not going to let those buggers get away, and that’s flat. You have three days, Hajjaj. Give ‘em up or we’ll come get ‘em.”
“I cannot guarantee your soldiers’ reception if you do,” Hajjaj said.
“Try and stop ‘em.” Ansovald relished being on top.
“We shall do what we have to do,” Hajjaj said coldly. “Your master will not thank you for starting a war here when he plainly has plans farther west.”
“Only goes to show you don’t know King Swemmel,” Ansovald said.
“Are we quite through here? Have you made all your demands?” Hajjaj asked. “If so, I shall take your words to King Shazli.”
“Go on. Get out.” Ansovald gestured contemptuously. Biting his lip, Hajjaj turned and left the minister’s chamber. The hard-faced young Unkerlanter waited outside, and escorted him to the carriage in stony silence. The carriage, he saw, had a new driver. He didn’t remark on it. He wanted nothing more than to get away from the Unkerlanter ministry.
Back at the palace, he hurried to King Shazli’s private audience chamber. He had to wait there, for the king was greeting the new minister from Sibiu. Shazli came in rolling his eyes. “I’m glad to be out of those clothes,” he said. “Would you care for tea and wine and cakes, your Excellency?”
“No, thank you, your Majesty,” Hajjaj answered. “Your Majesty, we have a problem.” He summed up what Ansovald had told him, leaving out only the coarse language and the shouts.
When he’d finished, Shazli frowned. “Do you think he means these threats?”
“Aye, your Majesty, I fear I do. I fear he does.”
“I was afraid of that.” Shazli let out a long, sad sigh. “When we took in these Algarvians, I made up my mind I would not let the kingdom suffer on account of them. I still hold to that. If Swemmel wants them so badly, I shall give them to him.”
That took Hajjaj by surprise. “Your Majesty!” he exclaimed. “Will you turn over men who helped in our revenge, who fought side by side with us for as long as they could? Where is the loyalty a man must show his friends?”
“I am willing to be loyal to my friends, in their place,” the king answered. “But their place is behind that of my own people. I will not go to war with Unkerlant to save these Algarvians. I will not even risk war with Unkerlant to protect them.”
“I don’t think Swemmel could fight much of a war to get these redheads,” Hajjaj said. “From everything we’ve been able to learn, he’s shipping soldiers west as fast as he can, to drive the Gyongyosians out of his kingdom.” In an aside, he added, “I have warned Minister Horthy of this-discreetly, of course.” He returned to the main topic: “While the Unkerlanters are busy in the west, they can’t bother us too badly.”
“I am sorry, your Excellency, but I dare not take the chance,” King Shazli said. “The Algarvians
Shazli had rarely overruled Hajjaj. Having it happen now hurt more than all the other times put together. “I must protest, your Majesty,” Hajjaj said stiffly.
“I’m sorry,” Shazli told him. “In this matter, my mind is made up.”
Hajjaj took a deep breath. “That being so, you leave me no choice but to offer my resignation.” He’d done that a handful of times in his long tenure; it had always persuaded the king to change his mind.
King Shazli sighed. “You have served this kingdom long and well, your Excellency. Without you, there might well be no Kingdom of Zuwayza today. But I shall do what I think I must do. I hope you will consult with me on my choice of your successor.”
“Of course, your Majesty.” Hajjaj bowed his head. He’d tried. He’d failed.
Now it was time to go. So he tried to tell himself. But the blood pounded in his ears. He suddenly felt very old, very shaky. Just as he’d been a part of Zuwayza for so very long, so Zuwayza was also a part of him. Had been a part of him.
Colonel Lurcanio sat across the table from a young Lagoan major who spoke Algarvian with such a thick accent, he would sooner have conversed with the fellow in classical Kaunian: he swallowed vowels and case and verb endings, as if he were still speaking his own tongue. “There’s. . some difficulty about your release, your Excellency,” the Lagoan said.
