Conqueror

'You seem to be seeing a lot of that young spark,' he said.

'Well, he is the Governor's nephew, Hadolfo. I can scarcely throw a drink in his face.'

'My dear, you not only could, you could make him-or any man-thank you for it.'

She laughed, a low musical chuckle, and tucked her arm through his. 'Maybe I should work my witchery on Colonel Courtet,' she said, nodding toward the fort.

'You might,' he said. 'I've had considerable dealings with the good Colonel, and in my experience he's extremely susceptible to feminine charm; unfortunately, also to Sala brandy and to whoever talked to him last.'

'You know a great deal about affairs here,' she said.

'I try to keep informed. . as you may remember, dear Suzette.'

'Then why don't we go somewhere a little more private for conversation, Hadolfo?'

He looked at her sharply, flushing. 'Here?' he said.

'Well, not exactly here,' Suzette replied, steering him around the couples sitting out the dance and crowding to the punchbowls and buffets. 'But it is a fairly large mansion, and one learns the way of things at Court; there's far less privacy in the Governor's Palace, believe me.'

She snapped open her fan, and flicked a breeze across his neck. 'You're glowing, Hadolfo. Now stroll along with me, and tell me all the gossip, and we'll find a sofa somewhere for a cosy chat.'

* * *

Hadolfo Reggiri felt himself flushing and fought not to stammer as they pushed open the doors to the lower room; it was a storey down from the ballroom and across a courtyard, close enough to hear the music, but shadowed with the black velvet curtains. His tongue felt thick, far more so than a few glasses of wine would account for, caught between memory and desire.

Get a grip on yourself, man! he thought. You're not Spirit-damned sixteen any more!

He could see how the witch kept the great General Whitehall dangling at her skirts. He could almost feel sorry for the man.

The glow of two cigarettes in the far corner of the darkened room was like running into a wall of cold salt water. He stopped dead, his hand tightening unconsciously on Suzette's where her fingers rested on his right arm. She rapped him sharply across the knuckles with her fan, and walked to the waiting men with the same slender swaying grace, her gown luminescent against the dark woodwork and furniture. Reggiri kept walking numbly forward, because there simply didn't seem to be much else to do. His mind was like a ship he had once seen, whose cargo shifted during a storm. Staggering, everything out of alignment suddenly.

He recognized the men as he approached; Raj Whitehall, and one of his officers, Kaltin Gruder. The scar- faced one he'd been convinced for a moment was going to shoot him last year, until Suzette's voice whipped him into obedience like a lash of ice. The self-appointed guardian of his master's honor.

Both the officers were wearing long dark military-issue greatcloaks, probably to disguise the fact that they were also wearing saber and pistol-real weapons, not the fancy dress cutlery appropriate at a ball. Behind them were four cavalry troopers; they'd been washed up and their uniforms were new, but they carried rifles in their crossed arms. Bull-necked, bow-legged Descotters, as out of place at a party in the mansion as a pack of trolls at an elf convention. Their eyes stayed fixed on the merchant, more feral than any barbarian of the Brigade he'd ever seen.

Hadolfo Reggiri was a good man of his hands; nobody could trade so long in the wilder parts of the Midworld Sea and survive unless he was. He also had no illusions about his own chances with Raj Whitehall or one of his picked fighting comrades; the troopers were a message, not a precaution. They paced out behind him now, hobnails grating on the parquet, looming presences at his back.

'Bwenyatar, heneralissimo,' he said, sweeping a bow. 'Good evening, Most Valiant General. I've been hoping you'd have the time to speak to me for several days; as a loyal man, I've information on the enemy-'

'I don't doubt you do,' Raj said. He flicked at his cigarette and considered the ember. 'Eighteen hundred men in the fort, half regular gunners, about four thousand refugees. .'

It was considerably more complete than the file Reggiri had been compiling.

'Then, if I can't be of assistance, and since you're undoubtedly very busy,' he began.

Raj drew another puff. 'Actually, messer, there is something you could help the war effort with. My aide Muzzaf Kerpatik tells me you have four ships currently at Sala.'

'Preparing to load sulphur, ornamental stone and fortified wine for East Residence,' he confirmed.

'They're needed for the war effort. I'd appreciate it if you'd send orders to their captains. They're to report to my base on the north coast and place themselves under the orders of Colonel Dinnalsyn of the Artillery Corps.'

'Artillery,' Reggiri whispered. 'You're going to waste my ships against that bloody fort!'

'That's Messer General, t'yer,' one of the troopers growled. Raj waved him to silence.

'What,' Kaltin said, 'would be the penalty, sir, for denying aid to officers of the Civil Government in time of war?'

'Oh, crucifixion,' Raj said pleasantly, 'for treason. But that doesn't arise, I'm sure. Not waste, Messer Reggiri. Use. But I do think they'll be used up. War does that; ships, ammunition, men.'

'My ships,' Reggiri said. They didn't carry insurance against war losses or acts of government; losing them would wreck him. 'You can't steal my ships! Messer General,' he added hastily as the soldiers stirred behind him. 'I have friends at court.'

'I wouldn't dream of stealing them,' Raj said. Beside him Suzette pulled a document from her reticule and handed it to her husband. He extended it to the merchant.

Reggiri strained to read it; one of the troopers helpfully lit a match against his thumbnail and held it over his shoulder. The hand stank of dog and gun-oil.

Three thousand gold FedCreds, he read. Not quite robbery, but not replacement value for the ships either. And-

'This is drawn on Chancellor Tzetzas!' he blurted. 'I've a better chance of getting the money out of Ali of Al Kebir!'

'Not satisfactory?' Raj said.

He plucked it back out of the other man's fingers and tore it in half. Suzette produced another sheet of parchment, and handed it to Raj. Reggiri took it with trembling fingers. It was identical to the first, except that the amount had been reduced to twenty-five hundred.

Reggiri looked up at Suzette; she stood beside her husband, one delicate hand touching fingertips to his massive wrist. Her eyes had seemed like green flame earlier; now they reminded him of a glacier he had seen once, in the mountains of the Base Area in the far north.

'Bitch,' he said, very softly. Then: 'Unnhh!' as a rifle-butt thudded over his kidneys. White fire turned his knees liquid for a moment, and ungentle hands beneath his arms steadied him.

'Watch yer arsemouth!' the trooper barked 'Beggin' yer pardon, messer, messa.'

'Kaltin,' Raj went on, his expression flat. 'Messer Reggiri seems to have had a bit too much to drink, since he's forgotten how one addresses a messa. I think he needs an escort home.'

Gruder nodded: 'Well, he is a slave-trader,' he said in a pleasant tone. 'Probably learned his manners pimping his sisters as a boy.'

Reggiri's hand came up of its own volition. Gruder's face thrust forward for the slap that never came, the scars that disfigured half of it flushing red.

'Please,' he said, his voice husky and earnest. His lips came back from his teeth. 'Oh, please. One of my men will lend you a sword.'

Raj touched his elbow. 'Major,' he said, and Gruder's hand dropped from the hilt of his saber. 'I really do think Messer Reggiri needs that escort. And a guard for the next week or so, because he seems to be remarkably reckless in his cups.'

'I gave you Connor Auburn on a platter!' Reggiri burst out. The troopers fell in around him, as irresistible as four walking boulders.