Out of the Darkness

have?”

Now Vanai snorted. “A point,” Hestan said. “A distinct point. That speaks well for your sense, but not for hers.”

Although Ealstan laughed at that, Vanai didn’t. “How can you say such a thing?” she demanded. “If he wasn’t mad to marry a Kaunian in the middle of the war, what would you call madness?”

“I knew what I was doing,” Ealstan insisted.

“You can argue about that later, too,” his father said. “Come on.”

Gromheort still looked like a city that had undergone a siege and a sack. Streets were largely free of rubble, but blocks had houses missing and practically every house still standing had a chunk bitten out of it. People on the street were still thinner than they should have been, too, though not so thin as when Ealstan fought his way into the city.

Some of the men weren’t undernourished at all: Unkerlanter soldiers doing constable’s duty, as Algarvian soldiers had before them. “When do we get to be our own kingdom again?” Ealstan asked, after walking past a couple of them.

“Things could be worse,” his father answered. “As I told you back at the house, when I grew up we weren’t our own kingdom. Swemmel could have annexed us instead of giving us a puppet king like Beornwulf. I feared he would.”

“Penda’s still my king,” Ealstan said, but he pitched his voice so no one but Hestan could hear him.

“Penda was no great bargain, either,” Hestan said, also softly. “He led us into a losing war, remember, and more than five years of occupation.”

“But he was ours,” Ealstan said.

Hestan’s laugh held both amusement and pain. “Spoken like a Forthwegian, son.”

A labor gang trudged past, its men carrying shouldered shovels and picks and crowbars as if they were sticks. They had reason to walk like soldiers: most of them were Algarvians in tattered uniforms. The men herding them along had smooth faces and wore rock-gray tunics, which meant they came from Unkerlant.

Ealstan eyed the few Forthwegians in the labor gang. “I keep wondering if I’ll see Sidroc one of these days,” he said.

His father’s face hardened. “I hope not. I hope he’s dead. If he happens not to be dead and I do see him, I’ll do my best to make sure he gets that way.”

Each word might have been carved from stone. Ealstan needed a heartbeat to remember why his father sounded as he did. He’d already fled to Eoforwic himself when Sidroc killed Leofsig. He knew it had happened, but it didn’t seem real to him. His memories of his cousin went back further, to school days and squabbles no more serious than those between a couple of puppies. Hestan, though, had watched Leofsig die. Recalling that, Ealstan understood every bit of his father’s fury.

The gang went by. On the sidewalk coming toward Ealstan and his father was Hestan’s brother, Hengist. He saw the two of them and deliberately turned away. Ealstan’s father muttered something under his breath. “Him, too?” Ealstan asked in dismay-he hadn’t seen, or looked for, Uncle Hengist since returning to Gromheort.

“Him, too,” Hestan said gravely. “When he finally found out from dear Sidroc some of the reasons why you’d run away, he tried to turn me in to the Algarvians.”

“Powers below eat him!” Ealstan exclaimed, and then, “Tried to turn you in to the redheads?”

His father chuckled, a noise full of cynicism. “One thing my dear, unloving brother forgot was how much the Algarvians enjoy taking bribes. I paid my way out of it, the same as I paid Mezentio’s men to look the other way when Leofsig broke out of their captives’ camp and came home. Saving my own neck cost me less, because I only had to pay off a couple of constables. Still, it’s the thought that counts, eh?”

“The thought that counts?” Ealstan echoed. “He wanted you dead!” His father nodded. After a couple of angry steps, Ealstan said, “You ought to denounce him to the Unkerlanters. That would pay him back in his own coin.”

“First you talk like a Forthwegian, and then you talk like a bookkeeper,” Hestan said. “Anyone would think you were my own son.” He stooped, picked up a quarter of a brick, and tossed it up and down, up and down. “Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. I remember everything he did to me, and everything Sidroc did to the whole family, and I want vengeance so much I can taste it. But then I remember he’s my brother, too, in spite of everything. I don’t need revenge that badly.”

“I’d take it.” Ealstan’s voice was fierce and hot.

“For my sake, let it go,” his father said. “If Hengist ever causes us more trouble, then aye, go ahead. But I don’t think he will. He knows we could tell the Unkerlanters about Sidroc. That would make Hengist a traitor, too, if I rightly read some of these new laws King Beornwulf has put forth. How’s your leg holding up?”

“Not bad,” Ealstan answered. He didn’t push his father any more about Sidroc or Uncle Hengist; Hestan wouldn’t have changed the subject like that unless he didn’t want to talk about them at all.

A couple of minutes later, Hestan said, “Here we are. If I remember rightly, the Algarvians used this place for one of their field hospitals. The Unkerlanters did try not to toss eggs at those on purpose, which is probably why it’s still standing.”

Ealstan recognized a couple of the men waiting for them inside the red brick building. The place kept the smell of a field hospital, even now: pus and ordure warring with strong soap and the tingling scents of various decoctions. It must have soaked into the bricks.

One of the men he didn’t know spoke to Hestan: “So this is your boy, eh? Chip off the old block. If he’s as good with numbers as you are, or even half as good, we’ll be well served.”

“He manages just fine,” Hestan answered. He introduced Ealstan to the men, saying, “If it weren’t for this crowd, a lot less of Gromheort would be standing today.”

“Pleased to meet you all,” Ealstan said. “I spent a good deal of the time outside of town, trying to knock things flat.”

“Boy does a good job at everything he sets his hand to, doesn’t he?” Hestan said. Several of the powerful men in Gromheort laughed.

“Let’s see what the two of you can do when you set a hand to our books here,” said the one who’d spoken before-his name was Osferth. He pointed to the two ledgers, which sat side by side on a table at the back of the hall. “Got to keep King Swemmel’s inspectors happy, you know, if such a thing is possible.”

Ealstan’s father sat down in front of one, Ealstan himself in front of the other. He sighed with relief as the weight came off his wounded leg. The two bookkeepers bent over the ledgers and got to work.

As far as Colonel Lurcanio could tell, the Valmierans didn’t know much about interrogation and were doing their level best to forget everything they could about what had happened to their kingdom while the Algarvians occupied it. The officer posturing at him now was a case in point.

“No,” Lurcanio said with such patience as he could muster. “I did not rape Marchioness Krasta. I had no need to rape her. She gave herself to me of her own free will.”

“Suppose I tell you the marchioness herself has given you the lie?” the officer thundered, as if trying to impress a panel of judges.

“Suppose you do?” Lurcanio said mildly. “I would say-I do say-she is lying.”

“And why should we prefer your word to hers?” the Valmieran demanded. “You have more to gain by lying than she does.”

“If you care about the truth there, you might really try to find it,” Lurcanio said. “You could ask Viscount Valnu what he knows, for instance.”

As he’d hoped it would, that knocked the interrogator back on his heels. Valnu was a hero of the underground, so his word carried weight. And Lurcanio’s guess was that he, unlike Krasta, wouldn’t lie for the fun of it. Also, interrogating someone else meant the Algarvians might not try to question Lurcanio himself under torture or under sorcery. He hadn’t raped Krasta, but they might find plenty of other things for which to put a rope around his neck.

The officer said, “Viscount Valnu cannot know the truth.”

“Indeed,” Lurcanio agreed. “Only Krasta and I can know the truth. But Valnu will know what Krasta said to him about what we did, and I have no doubt she said a great deal: getting her to stop talking has always been much harder than getting her to start.”