Out of the Darkness

Traku had been too young to fight in the Six Years’ War, and didn’t know what the army-especially the Jelgavan army-was like. Talsu said, “If our officers had been any good, we would have gone deeper. But if our officers were any good, a lot of things about this kingdom would be different.” That was about as much as he cared to say about that, even in the bosom of his family.

Ausra said, “They’re putting together a new army for the kingdom, now that we have our own king back again. That was the last set of broadsheets, before this one about exchanging Mainardo’s money.”

“I saw it,” Talsu said. “It won’t be a new army-you wait and see. It’ll be the same old army, with the same old noble officers who don’t know their-” He broke off before using a phrase from that same old army in front of his sister. In spite of having to stop, he’d got out what had been wrong with the Jelgavan army in which he’d served. As in most armies, nobles held almost all officers’ slots. . and Jelgavan nobles, from King Donalitu on down, were some of the most hidebound, stubborn, backwards-looking men the world had ever seen.

Gailisa came into the flat then. Talsu was glad to break off and give her a hug and a kiss. She returned them a little absently. She hadn’t been quite the same since her father got killed when Kuusaman and Lagoan dragons dropped eggs on Skrunda about a week before the Algarvians had to clear out of the town for good. Talsu had shown Kuusaman footsoldiers and behemoths an undefended way through the redheads’ lines. He wished he’d done it sooner. Maybe the islanders’ dragons wouldn’t have flown that night.

His late father-in-law had been a grocer. Gailisa had helped him. These days, she was working for another grocer, one named Pumpru, whose shop had survived. She said, “Do you know about the new money-changing decree?”

“We were just talking about it a few minutes ago,” Talsu answered. “I saw the broadsheets on my way home from delivering a cloak.”

“It’s a cheat,” Gailisa said.

“What? Have they turned out light coins that are supposed to be worth the same as the older, heavier ones?” Talsu asked. “That’s what Mainardo did. Donalitu’s not too proud to steal tricks from an Algarvian, eh?”

“Close, but not quite,” Gailisa said. “Pumpru took some of Mainardo’s money in to be changed as soon as he saw one of the broadsheets. If King Donalitu told everybody to jump off a roof, he’d do that just as fast-he’s one of those people. But he wasn’t happy when he came back to the store. He wasn’t happy at all.”

“What’s wrong with the new money?” Traku asked.

“It is new money.” Gailisa nodded. “If they’d given old silver, weight for weight, that would have been fair. But all the coins Pumpru got are shiny new. And they’re too hard, and they don’t sound right when you ring them on a counter. You don’t have to be a jeweler to figure out there’s not as much silver in them as there’s supposed to be.”

“And Donalitu puts the difference in his pocket,” Talsu said. Gailisa nodded again. Talsu made as if to pound his head against the wall of the flat. “What a cheap trick! He didn’t waste much time reminding people what he is, did he?”

“He’s the king, that’s what he is,” Traku said. But he didn’t blindly follow King Donalitu, the way Pumpru the grocer did, for he went on, “And if you get on his wrong side, you’ll find yourself in a nice, cozy dungeon cell, too, so watch what you say.”

“I will, Father,” Talsu promised. “I’ve already spent more time in a dungeon cell than I ever want to.”

“But that was for making the Algarvians angry, not the proper king,” Ausra said.

“Same dungeon,” Talsu replied dryly. “And it wasn’t the redheads running it, either-it was Jelgavans just like you and me. They’d worked for Donalitu before Mainardo came in. One of them said he’d go back to working for Donalitu if Mainardo ever got thrown out. He meant it.”

“That’s terrible!” his sister exclaimed.

“Son of a whore ought to be dragged out of his fornicating dungeon and blazed,” his father growled.

“Of course he should,” Talsu said. “But what do you want to bet he was right? What do you want to bet he’s still just where he always was, except now he’s making things hot for people who got in bed with the Algarvians instead of for people who wanted us to get our own rightful king back?”

Slowly, one at a time, Gailisa, Traku, and Ausra nodded. Talsu’s wife said, “Ausra’s right. That is terrible. It isn’t the way the world’s supposed to work.”

“Do you know what the worst part of all is, though?” Talsu said. This time, his family shook their heads. He went on, “The worst part of all this is, none of you argued with me. No matter how terrible it is, you think it’s pretty likely, too, the same as I do.”

“It shouldn’t be this way,” Gailisa insisted. But then her courage wilted. “It always seems to be, though-here in Jelgava, anyhow. The people who have a lot keep grabbing more and more.”

“That’s the story of this kingdom, sure enough,” Traku said. “Always has been, just like you said, Gailisa. Powers below eat me if I think it’ll ever change. And it’s likely the same way everywhere. When Mezentio’s buggers were holding us down, they weren’t shy about grabbing everything they could get their hands on.”

“From what I saw of the Kuusamans, they’re different,” Talsu said. “Their officers and men seemed to be friends, and the ones with the higher ranks didn’t ride roughshod over the ordinary soldiers. Come to think of it, I even had one regimental commander like that, back when we were still in the war.”

“What happened to him?” Gailisa asked.

“Colonel Adomu?” Talsu said. “About what you’d expect-he actually went out to do some real fighting, so he got killed pretty quick. I never knew another officer like him: not in our army, anyhow.” The Algarvians had had a fair number of that stripe, too, but he didn’t care to say so out loud. He didn’t want to praise the redheads, not after everything they’d done.

“Supper’s ready!” his mother called, and that gave him something happier to think about.

Three

'Bauska!” Marchioness Krasta shouted from her bedchamber. “Powers below eat you, Bauska, where have you gone and hidden?”

“Coming, milady,” the maidservant said, hurrying in-and panting a little, to show how much she was hurrying. She dropped Krasta a curtsy. “What can I do for you, milady?”

“At least you sound properly respectful,” Krasta said. “Some of the servants these days…” She made a horrible face. The servants didn’t come close to giving her the respect she deserved. They all took their lead from her brother and that hateful cow of a farm girl he’d brought home with him. There were times when Krasta almost wished the Algarvians had managed to hunt Skarnu down. Then he wouldn’t have had the chance to rub his virtue in her face.

Bauska’s answering smile was bleak. “Well, milady, we’re in the same boat, you and I, aren’t we?”

“I should say not,” Krasta answered indignantly. “Your snot-nosed little brat has an Algarvian papa, sure as sure. One look at her would tell that to anybody. Viscount Valnu is father to my child.” She firmly believed it these days.

“Of course, milady,” Bauska said. The words were right. The tone called Krasta a liar-oh, not quite blatantly enough to let her bound up and slap Bauska’s face, but it did, it did. The maidservant went on, “And even if that’s so. .” She broke off, not quite in the nick of time. Even if that’s so, she didn’t say, everybody knows you opened your legs for Colonel Lurcanio for years and years.

Krasta tossed her head. “So what?” she said, as if Bauska had made the accusation out loud. But the rest of her impassioned defense was silent, too. What if I did? The Algarvians looked like winning the war. Everybody thought so. I was better off with a redhead in my bed than I would have been without. I wasn‘t the only one. I wasn’t even close to the only one. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

It had been a good idea at the time. Krasta remained convinced of that. Once she got an idea-which didn’t happen all that often-she clung to it through thick and thin. But she’d never expected times to change so drastically. Taking an Algarvian lover didn’t look like a good idea any more. What it looked like these days, in a Valmiera no longer occupied, was something very much like treason.

With her own sandy-headed little bastard, Bauska couldn’t very well say that. She had to count herself lucky that she hadn’t had her head shaved and her scalp daubed with red paint, as had happened to so many Valmieran