His wife passed him the part of the news sheet she’d been reading. He went through it greedily; if he couldn’t get the news on time, at least he could seize all of it the news sheet offered. “Ha!” he said. “So we’re going to get some revenge from the redheads who ran the occupation? Just what they deserve, too.”
“We can’t take full revenge from them unless we go through their countryside and start grabbing people and killing them,” Merkela said. “I wouldn’t mind a bit.”
“I know,” Skarnu answered. The war itself had done that to a good deal of the Algarvian countryside, but he didn’t say so. Whatever had happened to Algarve, Merkela wouldn’t think it was enough. Skarnu had no love for the Algarvians, either, but. … He stiffened. “Well, well.”
“What is it?” his wife asked.
“One of the redheads they’ve hauled in is my nephew’s father,” Skarnu answered. Merkela needed a moment to work out who that was, but bared her teeth in a fierce grin when she did. Skarnu nodded. “Aye, they’ve got their hands on Lurcanio, sure enough.”
“I hope they hang him,” Merkela said. “What he’d have done if he ever got his hands on you-”
“We met once, you know, under flag of truce, and he honored that,” Skarnu said. Merkela waved his words away, as being of no account. Maybe she was right, too; by that time, the Valmieran underground had become a power in the land, and the Algarvians had troubles enough in other places to want to keep things here as quiet as they could. He added, “I really don’t think my sister blabbed anything special that had to do with me.”
Tartly, Merkela answered, “I suppose the next thing you’ll tell me is that she doesn’t have a sandy-haired little bastard, too.”
Skarnu coughed and reached for the teapot to pour himself another cup. He couldn’t tell her anything of the sort, and they both knew it. He sipped his tea and concentrated on reading the news sheet. “They’re charging him with brutality during the occupation, and with sending Valmierans off to be sacrificed.”
“They
In fact, Skarnu doubted that. He suspected the redheads would have killed him right away if they’d got hold of him. In their shoes, that was what he would have done with a dangerous captive, and he knew he’d proved himself dangerous. But he didn’t argue with his wife. Even if she was wrong as to details, she was right about the bigger picture.
She asked, “Do you suppose they’ll call you back to the city to testify against him?”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought of that.” He read on, then clicked his tongue between his teeth in annoyance. “Curse him, he’s bragging in the news sheet about fathering Krasta’s baby. That’ll do the family name a lot of good.”
“You see?” Merkela said with something like triumph. “You and Valnu had doubts about who did what, but the redhead hasn’t got any.”
“He hasn’t got any he’s admitting, anyhow,” Skarnu said. “In his place, I’d likely be trying to embarrass us as much as I could. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s why he claims the baby for his own.”
“Whatever reasons he’s got, he’s right,” Merkela said.
Since Skarnu couldn’t very well argue with that, he buried his nose in the news sheet again. Glancing up over the top of it, he saw the triumphant look on Merkela’s face. He let out a silent sigh. His wife despised his sister, and nothing in the world looked like changing that. He’d hoped at first that time might, but thought himself likely to be disappointed there. That might eventually matter very much-but even if it did, he failed to see what he could do about it.
Instead of bringing it up and starting an argument, he found another story in the news sheet to talk about: “The last little Algarvian army in Siaulia has finally surrendered.”
That made Merkela raise her eyebrows. “I didn’t even notice,” she said. “What took the whoresons so long?”
Laughing, Skarnu wagged a finger at her. “That’s not how a marchioness talks.”
“It’s how I talk,” Merkela said. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
“They stayed in the field a long time and caused a lot of trouble,” Skarnu said. “Not a lot of real redheads in the army there, of course-most of the soldiers are natives from the Siaulian colonies. And they lost their last crystal a while ago, so nobody here on Derlavai could let them know Algarve’d given up. The Lagoan general up there let the Algarvian brigadier in charge keep his sword.”
“I know where I’d have let him keep it-right up his. .” Merkela’s voice trailed off as she realized that wasn’t fitting language for a marchioness, either.
“By everything the news sheets said, the Algarvians fought a clean war up there,” Skarnu said.
“I don’t care,” his wife replied. “They’re still Algarvians.” To her, that was the long and short of it.
Servants cleared away the breakfast dishes. Skarnu went out to the reception hall. “Good morning, your Excellency,” Valmiru said. The butler bowed low.
“Good morning to you, Valmiru,” Skarnu said. “What’s on the list for today?” The servitor was doing duty for a majordomo, and handling the job well.
“Let me see, sir,” Valmiru said now, taking a list from a tunic pocket and donning spectacles to read it. “Your first appointment is with a certain Povilu, who accuses one of his neighbors, a certain Zemglu, of complicity with the Algarvians.”
“Another one of those, eh?” Skarnu said with a sigh.
“Aye, your Excellency,” Valmiru replied, “although perhaps not quite of the ordinary sort, for Zemglu has also lodged a charge of collaboration against Povilu.”
“Oh, dear,” Skarnu said. “One of
“I don’t precisely know, sir-one of the disadvantages of coming here from the capital,” Valmiru replied. “I had hoped you might be familiar with the gentlemen from your, ah, earlier stay in this part of the kingdom.”
“No such luck,” Skarnu said. “Are they from over by Adutiskis?” At Valmiru’s nod, he nodded, too. “Merkela’s farm was close to Pavilosta. I know those people better.” He sighed again. “But I’m everybody’s marquis, so I have to get to the bottom of it if I can.”
He sat in the seat of judgment in the reception hall and looked out at Povilu and Zemglu and their supporters. Povilu was squat and Zemglu was tall and skinny. They’d each brought not only kinsfolk but, by the packed hall, all their friends as well. The two sides plainly despised each other. Skarnu wonder if they would riot.
“Thank you, your Excellency,” Povilu rumbled. He was a man of no breeding, but he’d obviously practiced his speech for a long time, and brought it out well. He accused his neighbor of betraying men from the underground to the redheads. Zemglu tried to shout objections.
“Wait,” Skarnu told him. “You’ll have your turn.”
At last, Povilu bowed and said, “That proves it, your Excellency.”
Skarnu waved to the other peasant. “Now, Master Zemglu, say what you will.”
“Now you’ll hear truth, sir, after this bugger’s lies,” Zemglu said. Povilu howled. Skarnu silenced him. Zemglu went on to accuse his neighbor of having left one daughter behind so he wouldn’t have to show Skarnu her bastard child.
“That was rape!” Povilu yelled.
“You say so now,” Zemglu retorted, and went on with his accusations. His followers and those of Povilu pushed and shoved at one another.
“Enough,” Skarnu shouted, hoping they would listen to him. Eventually, they did. Still at the top of his lungs, he went on, “Now you’ll listen to me.” Povilu and Zemglu both leaned forward, tense anticipation on their faces. Skarnu said, “I doubt either of you has clean hands in this business. I
Both peasants loudly denied it. Skarnu studied their followers. Those abashed expressions told him he’d hit the mark. He waited for Povilu and Zemglu to fall silent again-it took a while-then held up his hand.
