The Desert Spear
Page 89
“Eh?” Janson said, his eyes widening. “I’m sorry to hear it. For all his faults, Arrick was a very good herald and served the duke well, not only for his heroism at Riverbridge. It’s a shame about the brothel incident.”
“Brothel incident?” Leesha asked, half amused as she turned to Rojer.
Janson turned bright red, and he turned to Leesha, bowing deeply.
“Ah…Ah…Forgive me, good woman, for bringing up such indelicate matters in the presence of a lady. I meant no disrespect.”
“None taken, Minister,” Leesha said. “I’m an Herb Gatherer, and used to indelicate matters. Leesha Paper,” she extended a hand for him to take, “Herb Gatherer to Deliverer’s Hollow.”
The prince’s nostrils flared and the clerk’s nose twitched again at the new name the people of Cutter’s Hollow had chosen, but Janson only nodded, saying, “I’ve watched your career with some interest since you apprenticed to Mistress Bruna.”
“Oh?” Leesha said, surprised.
Janson gave her that same curious look. “It should come as no surprise. I review the duke’s censuses every year, and take special note of prominent citizens in the duchy, especially ones like Bruna, a woman who registered every year since the first census, taken by Rhinebeck the First more than a century ago. I’ve kept watch over all her apprentices, wondering which would inherit her mantle. It was a great loss when she passed last year.”
Leesha nodded sadly.
Minister Janson gave a respectful pause for the deceased, then cleared his throat. “While we’re on the subject, Mistress Leesha,” he looked down his glasses and affixed her with the same reproachful stare he had given Rojer, “your annual census report is months late.”
Leesha blushed as Rojer snickered behind her.
“I…Ah…We’ve been a bit…”
“Preoccupied with the flux,” Janson nodded, “and,” he glanced at the Painted Man, “other concerns, of course, I understand. But as I’m sure your father can tell you, mistress, paper makes the engine of state run.”
“Yes, minister,” Leesha nodded.
“Please, Janson,” Prince Thamos interposed himself, pushing the first minister to the side. His sharp eyes took in Leesha’s body with a predatory seeming, and Rojer bristled. “The Hollow has been through enough of late. Spare them a moment of your endless paperwork!”
Janson frowned, but he bowed. “Of course, Highness.”
“Prince Thamos, at your command,” the prince told Leesha, bowing low and kissing her hand. Rojer scowled as Leesha’s cheeks colored.
Janson cleared his throat and turned to the Painted Man. “Enough shuffling the papers. Shall we address the duke’s business?”
When the Painted Man nodded, Janson turned to Jizell. “Mistress, if there were a place we could speak quietly…”
Jizell nodded, escorting them to her study. “I’ll bring in a fresh pot of tea,” she said, and returned to the kitchen.
Prince Thamos offered Leesha his arm on the way, and she took it with a bemused look on her face. Gared hovered near them protectively, but if Leesha or the prince took any notice of him, they gave no sign.
Pawl took his father’s paper case and scurried to Mistress Jizell’s desk, laying out a sheaf of notes and some blank pages. He set a quill and inkwell at the ready with a blotter, then pulled out the chair for his father, who sat and dipped the pen.
He looked up suddenly. “No one minds, of course, my penning our discussion for the duke?” Janson asked. “I will, of course, strike anything you consider inaccurate or indiscreet.”
“It’s fine,” the Painted Man said. Janson nodded, looking back to his paper.
“Well then,” he said. “As I told Mistress Jizell, the duke is eager for an audience with the representatives of…ahem, Deliverer’s Hollow, but he is concerned about the authenticity of that representation. May I ask why Mr. Smitt, the Town Speaker, has not come in person? Is it not the first and only legal duty of the Speaker to represent the town in instances such as these?” As he spoke, his hand was almost a blur, taking down even his own words in an indecipherable shorthand, his quill flicking back to the inkwell every few seconds, with never a drop spilled.
Leesha snorted. “Anyone who thinks that has never spent any time in the hamlets, minister. The people look to their Speaker in a crisis, and with refugees from Rizon still trickling in, and those already arrived lacking even basic necessities, he couldn’t pull away. He sent me in his stead.”
“You?” Thamos asked, incredulous. “A woman?”
Leesha scowled, but Janson cleared his throat loudly before she could retort. “I believe what His Highness means is that proper succession should have had your Tender, Jona, come in Mr. Smitt’s stead.”
“The Holy House is overflowing with refugees seeking succor,” Leesha said. “Jona could no more come than Smitt.”
“But the Hollow can spare its Herb Gatherer in this time of need?” Thamos asked.
“This presents a problem for His Grace,” Janson said, looking up at Leesha even as his hand continued to take down their words. “How would it look at court if he received a delegation from one of his vassalages who did not think enough of the ivy throne to even send their proper Speaker? It would be seen as an insult.”
“I assure you, no insult was meant,” Leesha said.
“How not?” Thamos demanded. “Regardless of crisis, your Speaker could have come. Cutter’s Hollow is only six nights hence,” he looked to the Painted Man, “but it appears that this Deliverer’s Hollow has moved farther off.”
“What would you have me do, Highness?” Leesha asked. “Spend a fortnight fetching Smitt when there’s an army at our doorstep?”
Prince Thamos snorted.
“Please don’t exaggerate, Miss Paper,” Janson said, still writing. “The royal family knows all about the Krasian raids on Rizon, but the threat to Angierian lands is minimal.”
“For now,” the Painted Man said. “But those were no simple raids; Fort Rizon and its hamlets, the grain belt of all Thesa, are now under Krasian control. They will dig in for a year at least, levying troops from the Rizonans and training them. Then they will move on to swallow Lakton and its hamlets. It may be years before they turn north and head for your city, but I assure you, they will, and you will need allies if you hope to stand against them.”
“Fort Angiers isn’t afraid of a handful of desert rats, even if your tampweed tales were true!” Thamos barked.
“Highness, please!” Janson squeaked. When the prince fell silent again, Janson looked back to the Painted Man. “May I ask how is it you know so much of the Krasians’ plans, Mr. Flinn?”
“Do you have a copy of the Krasian holy book in your archives, minister?” the Painted Man asked.
Janson’s eyes flicked away for a moment, as if checking an invisible list. “The Evejah, yes.”
“I suggest you read it,” the Painted Man said. “The Krasians believe their leader is the reincarnation of Kaji, the Deliverer. They are fighting the Daylight War.”
“The Daylight War?” Janson asked.
“Brothel incident?” Leesha asked, half amused as she turned to Rojer.
Janson turned bright red, and he turned to Leesha, bowing deeply.
“Ah…Ah…Forgive me, good woman, for bringing up such indelicate matters in the presence of a lady. I meant no disrespect.”
“None taken, Minister,” Leesha said. “I’m an Herb Gatherer, and used to indelicate matters. Leesha Paper,” she extended a hand for him to take, “Herb Gatherer to Deliverer’s Hollow.”
The prince’s nostrils flared and the clerk’s nose twitched again at the new name the people of Cutter’s Hollow had chosen, but Janson only nodded, saying, “I’ve watched your career with some interest since you apprenticed to Mistress Bruna.”
“Oh?” Leesha said, surprised.
Janson gave her that same curious look. “It should come as no surprise. I review the duke’s censuses every year, and take special note of prominent citizens in the duchy, especially ones like Bruna, a woman who registered every year since the first census, taken by Rhinebeck the First more than a century ago. I’ve kept watch over all her apprentices, wondering which would inherit her mantle. It was a great loss when she passed last year.”
Leesha nodded sadly.
Minister Janson gave a respectful pause for the deceased, then cleared his throat. “While we’re on the subject, Mistress Leesha,” he looked down his glasses and affixed her with the same reproachful stare he had given Rojer, “your annual census report is months late.”
Leesha blushed as Rojer snickered behind her.
“I…Ah…We’ve been a bit…”
“Preoccupied with the flux,” Janson nodded, “and,” he glanced at the Painted Man, “other concerns, of course, I understand. But as I’m sure your father can tell you, mistress, paper makes the engine of state run.”
“Yes, minister,” Leesha nodded.
“Please, Janson,” Prince Thamos interposed himself, pushing the first minister to the side. His sharp eyes took in Leesha’s body with a predatory seeming, and Rojer bristled. “The Hollow has been through enough of late. Spare them a moment of your endless paperwork!”
Janson frowned, but he bowed. “Of course, Highness.”
“Prince Thamos, at your command,” the prince told Leesha, bowing low and kissing her hand. Rojer scowled as Leesha’s cheeks colored.
Janson cleared his throat and turned to the Painted Man. “Enough shuffling the papers. Shall we address the duke’s business?”
When the Painted Man nodded, Janson turned to Jizell. “Mistress, if there were a place we could speak quietly…”
Jizell nodded, escorting them to her study. “I’ll bring in a fresh pot of tea,” she said, and returned to the kitchen.
Prince Thamos offered Leesha his arm on the way, and she took it with a bemused look on her face. Gared hovered near them protectively, but if Leesha or the prince took any notice of him, they gave no sign.
Pawl took his father’s paper case and scurried to Mistress Jizell’s desk, laying out a sheaf of notes and some blank pages. He set a quill and inkwell at the ready with a blotter, then pulled out the chair for his father, who sat and dipped the pen.
He looked up suddenly. “No one minds, of course, my penning our discussion for the duke?” Janson asked. “I will, of course, strike anything you consider inaccurate or indiscreet.”
“It’s fine,” the Painted Man said. Janson nodded, looking back to his paper.
“Well then,” he said. “As I told Mistress Jizell, the duke is eager for an audience with the representatives of…ahem, Deliverer’s Hollow, but he is concerned about the authenticity of that representation. May I ask why Mr. Smitt, the Town Speaker, has not come in person? Is it not the first and only legal duty of the Speaker to represent the town in instances such as these?” As he spoke, his hand was almost a blur, taking down even his own words in an indecipherable shorthand, his quill flicking back to the inkwell every few seconds, with never a drop spilled.
Leesha snorted. “Anyone who thinks that has never spent any time in the hamlets, minister. The people look to their Speaker in a crisis, and with refugees from Rizon still trickling in, and those already arrived lacking even basic necessities, he couldn’t pull away. He sent me in his stead.”
“You?” Thamos asked, incredulous. “A woman?”
Leesha scowled, but Janson cleared his throat loudly before she could retort. “I believe what His Highness means is that proper succession should have had your Tender, Jona, come in Mr. Smitt’s stead.”
“The Holy House is overflowing with refugees seeking succor,” Leesha said. “Jona could no more come than Smitt.”
“But the Hollow can spare its Herb Gatherer in this time of need?” Thamos asked.
“This presents a problem for His Grace,” Janson said, looking up at Leesha even as his hand continued to take down their words. “How would it look at court if he received a delegation from one of his vassalages who did not think enough of the ivy throne to even send their proper Speaker? It would be seen as an insult.”
“I assure you, no insult was meant,” Leesha said.
“How not?” Thamos demanded. “Regardless of crisis, your Speaker could have come. Cutter’s Hollow is only six nights hence,” he looked to the Painted Man, “but it appears that this Deliverer’s Hollow has moved farther off.”
“What would you have me do, Highness?” Leesha asked. “Spend a fortnight fetching Smitt when there’s an army at our doorstep?”
Prince Thamos snorted.
“Please don’t exaggerate, Miss Paper,” Janson said, still writing. “The royal family knows all about the Krasian raids on Rizon, but the threat to Angierian lands is minimal.”
“For now,” the Painted Man said. “But those were no simple raids; Fort Rizon and its hamlets, the grain belt of all Thesa, are now under Krasian control. They will dig in for a year at least, levying troops from the Rizonans and training them. Then they will move on to swallow Lakton and its hamlets. It may be years before they turn north and head for your city, but I assure you, they will, and you will need allies if you hope to stand against them.”
“Fort Angiers isn’t afraid of a handful of desert rats, even if your tampweed tales were true!” Thamos barked.
“Highness, please!” Janson squeaked. When the prince fell silent again, Janson looked back to the Painted Man. “May I ask how is it you know so much of the Krasians’ plans, Mr. Flinn?”
“Do you have a copy of the Krasian holy book in your archives, minister?” the Painted Man asked.
Janson’s eyes flicked away for a moment, as if checking an invisible list. “The Evejah, yes.”
“I suggest you read it,” the Painted Man said. “The Krasians believe their leader is the reincarnation of Kaji, the Deliverer. They are fighting the Daylight War.”
“The Daylight War?” Janson asked.
