《Chimera Dire》


 1. The Old Man

    Chapter One


    THE OLD MAN


    Years later, long after the events that so scarred the continent had faded, Karl Lattamore enjoyed relating to his grandchildren one of those memories that takes on meaning only in retrospect.  It was a story about a man who visited Karl¡¯s hometown a decade or so before the war.  At that time Karl was a big burly adolescent whose life revolved around roughhousing and troublemaking.  Indeed, he cared so little about his education that his father wanted him to quit school and get a job in the local foundry, but his mother insisted that he stay put.  She carried the day because of a recently-passed law that mandated compulsory education for everyone sixteen years old and under.  But although his mom and the government could compel his attendance, no one could make him learn anything between the pages of a book.


    One spring day Karl¡¯s teacher introduced his class to a friend visiting from the capital.  He was a sallow young man, probably in his late twenties, with a bowler cap, lounge suit, neat mustache, and hair parted down the middle of his square-shaped head.  He informed the students that remarkable and beneficial things were happening in the world.  He asked them to consider some of the great technological advances that had taken place over the past few decades: telegraph wires that transmitted information almost instantaneously, railroads that transferred people and goods quickly over long distances, photographs to freeze memories in place, and electricity that brought artificial light into homes and businesses.  He informed them that there was more technology on its way to further transform their small community for the better.  He discussed machines that played sound, internal combustion engines for horseless vehicles, typewriters that promoted faster and clearer communications, and moving pictures.  When one boy asked about military technology, the man referenced new weapons such as bolt action rifles, machine guns, and breech-loading artillery to keep the savage tribesmen in the southern wastelands at bay.  These changes, he continued, were not just materialistic.  He explained that people in the capital were exploring new ways to explain the mind, space and time, and humanity¡¯s origins. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    The thing that Karl remembered the most about the man¡¯s speech, though, was his contention that these advances marked a new epoch for humanity.  Economic interdependence, advanced technology, universal education, and rationalized thinking were changing both society and individuals into something better than before.  Progress, he intoned, was displacing not only hunger, conflict, and disease, but also sin, shame, and guilt.  He looked around the room conspiratorially, touched his heart, and said, ¡°It turns out that God was inside of us all along ¨C we just didn¡¯t know it until now.¡±


    At this point of the story, a gnarled and wrinkled Karl invariably lifted his shirt to show his grandkids the long jagged scar on his torso that they knew he had acquired during the Allerian War.  Pointing at each child for emphasis, he always said, ¡°Progress can¡¯t change what¡¯s in people¡¯s hearts.¡±

 2. The Princess

    Chapter Two


    THE PRINCESS


    Princess Iona leaned forward and kissed her father¡¯s corpse on the forehead. As she straightened herself up, an artillery shell exploded directly overhead, shaking the crypt and deluging its occupants with debris. Sighing, Iona lamented this dark, dingy, and degrading locale as she watched the undertaker hobble over to brush the dust off her father¡¯s remains. An Allerian king deserved better, she thought. Indeed, there was barely enough room in the crypt to hold the few family members, royal officials, longtime servants, and diplomats hastily summoned for the long-expected occasion. It was, however, the only safe place for the ceremony. The royal sanctuary, like almost everything else above ground, was mostly rubble, its famous stained glass windows now shards amidst the wreckage of what had once been the most beautiful city on the continent.


    Iona had adored her father. She always felt that his regnal name, Bartholomew III, was too formal and solemn for his genial personality. She scarcely remembered her mother, who died of pneumonia when she was six years old, but her father had been the one positive and constant in her life. He nicknamed her ¡°Bank¡± because, he said, she was so valuable to him. When she was younger, they played cards, took long walks in the palace gardens, and created ditties about the officials who competed for his time and attention. He gave her as normal an upbringing as her position allowed and kept her out of the public eye. He even permitted her to attend the royal academy with her brother. ¡°An ignorant princess,¡± he once told her with a twinkle in his eye, ¡°is about as valuable as a learned whore.¡± The thing she appreciated the most, though, was that he always respected her for who she was rather than what others expected her to be. And if his sometimes brutal honesty did little to curb her natural imperiousness and snarkiness, it at least made her conscious of some of her less admirable characteristics.


    Of course, she thought as she stared at her father¡¯s corpse, everything that occurred before the war seemed halcyon compared with the current horrors. Iona had to dig deep in her memory to recall a time without the heartbreaking casualty lists, fearful rumors, unending grief, and interminable shortages that marked the past decade. Her father had not wanted the war, and had in fact done everything possible to avoid it. He was sufficiently well-versed in history to know that violence was the most unpredictable form of statecraft. As a result, he had insisted on continuing negotiations over the Ethosia principality¡¯s fate long after both his advisers and the Rowowan empire ceased to take them seriously. When Rowowan troops finally invaded Ethosia, her father did not share in the relief and enthusiasm that swept across his kingdom that summer. Indeed, he received the news of the national assembly¡¯s declaration of war on Rowowa without comment. His subdued response put a somewhat downbeat coda on an occasion otherwise characterized by national urgency, patriotism, and determination. Later that day, when she and her father sipped tea in his study, he observed that wars develop a momentum of their own that take societies places that their leaders never wanted or intended them to go.


    At first her father¡¯s concerns seemed overdrawn. Allerian soldiers defeated the invading Rowowan army at the Battle of Momoweb and drove it out of Ethosia. Although the Rowowan empire¡¯s population and geographic size exceeded Alleria¡¯s by a factor of four, its ossified and sclerotic government was initially incapable of effectively waging the war it had so deliberately provoked. In the months following Momoweb, Allerian forces stormed across the border and occupied the southwesternmost Rowowan provinces. Victory appeared just around the corner, and everyone expected Alleria¡¯s soldiers to return home soon covered in glory and proud of their triumphs.


    Unfortunately for Alleria, the Rowowans sorted out their internal difficulties, mobilized their superior forces, and embarked on a war of attrition designed to kill as many Allerians as possible. The conflict degenerated into a sustained, brutal, and bloody stalemate that gradually and irretrievably drained Alleria of men, materiel, and hope. Moreover, as each side invested more and more of its resources into the war, a negotiated peace became impossible. What had begun as a dispute over a poverty-ridden and backward principality became a war of annihilation in which Alleria was at a distinct disadvantage. The Allerian army lost its foothold in Rowowa and then, after a prolonged and desperate struggle, Ethosia too. The Ethosian capital of Highrealm became a cauldron that consumed tens of thousands of Rowowan and Allerian soldiers and switched hands twice before it finally fell to Rowowa once and for all. Rowowan troops pushed into Alleria itself, overrunning the eastern plains before besieging the capital, Aurora. While one Rowowan army methodically reduced Aurora, others conquered the southern wastelands and western seaboard. In that last desperate summer of the war, law and order collapsed throughout those parts of Alleria still free of Rowowan control. Thousands starved, and hundreds of thousands more left their homes in search of safety and succor. By then there was scarcely a family in the kingdom that had not lost at least one person to a conflict that was finally coming to a close after ten long years of unimaginable sacrifice and horror.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Iona liked to think of her father as the war¡¯s first and last casualty. As the conflict slowly turned against Alleria, he devoted more and more energy to supervising it through meetings, speeches, rallies, and inspections. To find the time for these activities, he sacrificed first his hobbies ¨C especially theater and chess ¨C then his friends, and lastly his family. To be sure, he always cleared his calendar to see Iona, but their conversations grew stilted and one-sided as he withdrew into himself. Finally, and paradoxically, he lost interest in the war itself, spending his days gazing out his office window at the gardens below. His health declined and his heart failed. His death came more as a relief than a surprise not only to Iona, but to the Allerian people as well. By the time the Rowowan army besieged Aurora, it was obvious to everyone that Alleria was in its death throes. The Allerians, though, battled on anyway not out of any hope for victory, but rather to spare their beloved king the humiliation of defeat and all that would come with it ¨C imprisonment, trial, ignominy, and perhaps even execution. Throughout that summer, thousands of Allerian soldiers fought on, waiting to hear the news of the king¡¯s death so that they could finally lay down their arms and end the bloodletting.


    Iona¡¯s twin brother, Rael, interrupted her thoughts with a nudge and a smirk. ¡°Who picked this crippled undertaker?¡±


    ¡°Will you be quiet!¡± she hissed.


    Everyone turned to look at Iona, and an awkward silence filled the crypt, interrupted only by a solitary cough from the back.  Iona blushed and shifted her eyes from her father¡¯s remains to the officiating priest.


    Rael had recently returned to Aurora from the front after a two-year absence to be with their father in his final days. Time in the army had done little to smooth out his rough social edges. He tended to say the right thing at the wrong time and the wrong thing at the right time. Iona thought that age and experience should have taught him some tact and discretion, but remembered that his undeniable good looks and royal status provided him with an immunity from the usual social graces.


    Ten years of war had of course changed everyone involved one way or another. Mostly, Iona felt, for the worse. She ruefully included herself on this list. The conflict had transformed her from an important royal personage into an afterthought. Although there were plenty of opportunities for women to contribute to the war effort, Iona struggled to find an appropriate role for herself. Some officials wanted to use her for diplomatic or propaganda purposes, but her father quashed that idea by stating that his daughter was not a chess piece. Left to her own devices to find her own niche, Iona tried a little bit of everything: teaching, nursing, clerking, translating, and even riveting. In each instance, the day-to-day grind of the job, her impatience with rigmarole, and her inability to live up to everyone¡¯s expectations repeatedly disillusioned her. After several weeks or months of effort, she invariably quit whichever task she had taken up and retreated to the security of the palace until boredom and guilt drove her to try something else.


    Iona¡¯s personal life was equally unsatisfactory, characterized as it was by one failed relationship after another. Despite their shared womb, she and her brother had never been close. He was the heir, the future king, whereas Iona was the zygotic residue. She coped with her jealousy by withdrawing from Rael and his friends, and his obliviousness prevented him from bridging the resulting the gap between them. When the war began, she was attracted to anxious boys looking for comfort before they headed off to the front. Although a part of her felt that embracing them was her patriotic duty, she was also drawn to their fear-induced lack of pretense. They had, she believed, an endearing authenticity that promoted an honesty often absent from the palace intrigue that swirled around her. As the war progressed and the casualty lists hardened her heart, she gravitated toward self-assured and cynical officers who made the most of the opportunities the conflict offered. Not surprisingly, these liaisons were perfunctory, unfulfilling, and mercenary. Whatever their nature, they ended when the soldier returned to the front and was killed, wounded, or otherwise distracted. To make matters worse, she gradually lost touch with her female friends as they married, moved, or entered the workforce. Her long hair remained flaxen blonde and her eyes dark blue, but by the time her father succumbed to his final illness, even she noticed a harshness in her face that she could not entirely attribute to age.


    As the priest concluded the ceremony, Iona suddenly realized that her world had become as small and concentrated as the crypt in which she stood. Her hopes and dreams for the future, never well-formed to begin with, had narrowed to the immediate and mundane. Because the Rowowans had cut off Aurora¡¯s supply lines, she now valued things she had once taken for granted, such as a warm bath and tomorrow¡¯s meal. Indeed, the daily grind for survival in the siege had displaced issues that would have once generated attention and comment: the Valgoran ambassador¡¯s affair with his chambermaid, the unsolved murder of a servant girl on palace grounds, an embezzlement scandal in the interior ministry, and so on. Iona knew that a long and important phase in her life was ending, but she had only the vaguest idea of what would come next. However, she took comfort in the knowledge that her fate lay not in the hands of the pitiless and barbaric Rowowans on the capital¡¯s outskirts, but in those of the tall, bald, and aesthetic man standing next to her twin brother, not three feet away.

 3. The Adviser

    Chapter Three


    THE ADVISER


    King Edward II had established the Office of Advisers a century before Alleria¡¯s war with the Rowowan empire. His basic idea was to create a well-trained cadre of elite civil servants who could provide informed and objective counsel to high-ranking officials whose appointments to their posts were not necessarily based on their abilities. Most advisers started out as orphan boys entrusted to the state. If they demonstrated sufficient intellectual prowess, they were sent to the royal academy to learn history, politics, grammar, logic, mathematics, literature, and science. Most entered the Office of Advisers upon graduation and served the kingdom for their entire careers. Promotion and advancement were theoretically based on merit, so those who rose to the top were supposedly the most talented and capable men in the kingdom. In reality, the Office of Advisers was just as susceptible to self-selection, favoritism, and corruption as any other organization. Advisers did not marry ¨C or, as people said, they married the kingdom. Their watchwords were loyalty, knowledge, and discretion. Their tight-knit, monastic, and elitist status set them apart from the rest of society and sometimes aroused jealousy among other government officials. To the public at large, however, advisers were strange, remote, intimidating, and mysterious men who whispered in the ears of their leaders.


    The only thing that Michael Kargas knew about his infancy was that he was born somewhere in the southern wastelands about thirty years before the war began. His first memories were of the royal academy. There his intelligence, loyalty, and circumspection marked him even before he entered the Office of Advisers. Kargas¡¯s subsequent ascent up the organization¡¯s hierarchy was so effortless that it sometimes generated resentment among those not blessed with his sharp intellect and placid interpersonal skills. Kargas attributed his success to his knack for persuading his clients to embrace his ideas as their own. Moreover, his ability to ruthlessly implement those ideas made him indispensable. And indispensable men, Kargas soon realized, were powerful men. Kargas¡¯s ambition, though, was tied to his devotion to the kingdom, not to his ego. As he saw it, the kingdom had raised him, educated him, and given his life purpose. Without its fortuitous intervention, he might have ended up as a goat herder or dockworker. His single-minded commitment to the kingdom blotted out all else. He had no hobbies and cared little about money or sex. Indeed, his aestheticism and work ethic led people to compare him to a secular monk. So did his simple plain clothing, thin frame, and bald head. He possessed the sereneness, understatement, and self-confidence of a man who took for granted his intellectual superiority and the success that flowed from it.


    Kargas started his career first as an assistant adviser, then as senior adviser, to the Ladle Archipelago¡¯s governor. From there he moved to Aurora to work successively for the foreign ministry, the treasury department, and the personnel office before crossing the Valgor Strait to serve as adviser to the ambassador to the Valgor Confederation. In each job he more than met the expectations of his clients and his Office of Adviser superiors. He came home to become assistant adviser to the royal family shortly before the conflict with Rowowa began. From there he headed to the front for a long stint with army intelligence. In that capacity he saw enough of war to detest its messiness, unpredictability, and inhumanity. No one, however, doubted his effectiveness. Even army officers disinclined to trust advisers acknowledged his good judgment, collegiality, and decisiveness. Finally, three years ago, he returned to Aurora as the royal family¡¯s senior adviser. It was therefore his responsibility to protect Rael and Iona from danger. He owed his appointment not only to his previous posting with the royal family, but also for his proven ability to retrieve something out of even the worst disasters. Alleria¡¯s imminent demise meant an end to the Office of Advisers, but its executive council had already empowered Kargas to do whatever was necessary to safeguard the royal family through the difficult times ahead. It was, as one council member explained to Kargas, the ultimate salvage mission.


    As he stood ramrod straight in the cramped and stuffy crypt, Kargas dispassionately contemplated the end of Bartholomew¡¯s reign. His relationship with the old man had been more professional than personal. Indeed, by the time Kargas became senior royal adviser, the king was already shutting out the rest of the world. He rarely conversed directly with Kargas, but instead communicated with him through increasingly cryptic and brief memos that Kargas found hard to decipher and even harder to respond to in any meaningful way. Although Kargas interpreted the king¡¯s declining health as a kind of dereliction of duty, he still respected him for foreseeing the war¡¯s tragic consequences before anyone else. Moreover, he appreciated the king¡¯s incorruptible nature in a position hardly conducive to such inclinations. Kargas believed that Bartholomew had possessed a selflessness and humility rare among the powerful, and was saddened by his mean and grubby death.


    Kargas was less sure about the recently-arrived Prince Rael. The prince certainly looked the part ¨C tall, muscular, and square-jawed. He carried himself with the dignity of someone accustomed to authority, but combined this self-assuredness with an unbecoming coarseness. Kargas had interacted with Rael at the war¡¯s start while serving as assistant royal adviser, but that was ten years ago and of course much had changed since then. Rael had spent much of the conflict as a staff officer and had risen to the rank of colonel. However, he owed his advancement more to his longevity, seniority, and especially royalty than to true merit. To be sure, Rael had dutifully fulfilled his military responsibilities, but rarely went much beyond that. Because he took his privileges for granted, he seldom exerted himself any more than necessary. There was, Kargas concluded, rather less to him than initially met the eye. This fecklessness applied to his personal life as well. He gathered and discarded friends without much rhyme or reason. Moreover, over the years he had left a long trail of brief, shallow, and purely physical relationships with women of all classes who were attracted to his rank. Kargas knew that these characteristics were hardly unusual among royalty, and anyway he believed in taking people as they were. If the prince was not Alleria¡¯s ideal standard bearer, history was replete with kings with greater flaws. Besides, working with the material at hand was part of Kargas¡¯s job.


    Kargas had similar reservations about Princess Iona. She had her good points. Kargas appreciated her earnestness and intelligence. She had remained devoted to her father long after others had abandoned the old man. Her observations about people and events were often incisive and spot on. Kargas knew that she had been deeply frustrated and ashamed of her inability to find an appropriate role for herself during the war. Her beauty ¨C long blonde hair, elfin facial features, dark eyes, and enchanting figure ¨C spoke for itself and was undoubtedly part of her allure. On the other hand, she was as autocratic as her brother and relied entirely too much on her royal prerogatives to get what she wanted. Worse yet, her selfishness, willfulness, and self-centeredness made it impossible for her to commit to anyone or anything for any length of time. Her drama-filled romantic relationships seemed designed more to prove a point ¨C what it was, Kargas did not know ¨C than to find happiness and fulfillment. Small wonder her romantic victims often preferred to return to the front and its accompanying horrors than continue in the manipulative and bewitching world into which Iona had drawn them. One disgusted officer told Kargas that at least the Rowowans made a pretense toward fairness. Except for keeping track of her amours and dispatching a nurse to make sure she took the proper sexual precautions, Kargas refrained from interfering with her relationships because he knew that her insecurities and unreasonable demands would more effectively sabotage them than anything he did. Kargas concluded that Iona¡¯s basic problem was that she wanted to carve her own path without surrendering the protection her royalty provided her.


    Whatever their virtues and vices, Kargas saw Rael and Iona as the keys to Alleria¡¯s resurrection. He believed that the royal family served as symbols of the Allerian people. As long as they remained free and extant, Alleria would maintain its national identity and distinctiveness. Kargas¡¯s mission, therefore, was to keep the twins out of Rowowan hands until the time was ripe for Alleria to reclaim its independence. As Kargas saw it, that time was not far off. Although the Rowowans had won the war through brute force and materiel superiority, the conflict had pushed their dysfunctional empire to the breaking point. Its corrupt and cumbersome imperial council consisted of members who hated one another even more than they hated the Allerians. Its bloated and venial bureaucracy was renowned for overlapping and unclear lines of authority, massive redtape, and an inability to get things done. The empire¡¯s dozen squabbling nationalities were united only in their unhappiness with the imperial council and its authority over them. The war had spawned inflation, shortages, and dislocation. Hundreds of thousands of demobilized Rowowan soldiers would soon return home to limited opportunities and reduced standards of living. Kargas¡¯s intelligence briefings contained reports of riots in Rowowan cities and brigandage in the countryside. It was clear to Kargas that the empire was already showing the first cracks of its imminent disintegration. Such a collapse would provide subjugated minorities such as the Allerians with the opportunity to squirm free. When this happened, the royal family could emerge from hiding to rally and unite the Allerian people. Until then, Kargas had to conceal Rael and Iona and protect them from Rowowans determined to find, capture, and imprison them.


    As soon as the royal undertaker pushed the king¡¯s remains into his vault, Kargas quietly exited the crypt and walked down a long, dimly-lit tunnel that led to a dugout that served as the headquarters for the Allerian army defending Aurora. There its commander, General Theodore Millwright, and his staff oversaw efforts to resist the constricting coils of the besieging Rowowans. Despite his plebian surname, the stout Millwright came from old Allerian aristocratic stock. Indeed, he and Kargas had attended the royal academy together. Millwright was commissioned into the army after graduation and was leading a battalion when the war began. He rose steadily through the ranks in both staff and command positions to secure his current post. He was by any measure a skilled commander, but his generalship had failed to overcome Rowowan advantages in men and materiel.


    An officer ushered Kargas into a curtained-off corner of the dugout that served as Millwright¡¯s office. Kargas took a seat on a rickety stool and waited for Millwright to finish writing out orders at his field desk. After a minute, Millwright looked up.


    ¡°Is it done?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± replied Kargas. ¡°They put him in his vault about ten minutes ago.¡±


    Millwright opened a drawer, took out a bottle and a couple glasses, poured two drinks, and handed one to Kargas.


    ¡°To the king,¡± he intoned.


    ¡°To the king,¡± Kargas responded, clinking his glass with Millwright¡¯s and downing the contents. Kargas studied the glass for a moment. ¡°Where did you get the liquor?¡±


    ¡°Oh, rank has its privileges.¡±


    Millwright looked longingly at the bottle before reluctantly putting it back in the drawer. ¡°He was a good king,¡± he said. ¡°Not perfect, of course, but a good king. At least up until the end. And a fine man.¡±


    ¡°Yes he was.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Millwright said, ¡°shall we begin?¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    ¡°No,¡± Kargas responded. ¡°Not yet. Let¡¯s wait until the top of the hour so it will be easier for everyone to stay on the same page.¡±


    The two men sat in silence for several minutes. ¡°What do you think you¡¯ll do after the war?¡± Kargas asked abruptly.


    Millwright thought for a moment. ¡°The Rowowans may put me in a prison camp, but I doubt it. Not worth the effort. I¡¯ve been a soldier my whole career. I don¡¯t know how to do anything else. I hear that the Rowowans recruit officers from defeated armies to serve in the northern tundra against the natives. Maybe I¡¯ll go there. Or I could enlist in the Valgoran foreign legion. Maybe I¡¯ll become a police officer.¡± Millwright chewed on his options for a few seconds. ¡°There aren¡¯t a lot of career opportunities for defeated generals, are there?¡±


    Kargas chuckled, then turned serious. ¡°I hope you realize that we lost this campaign despite your generalship, not because of it.¡±


    Millwright smiled. ¡°Thanks. And I want you to know that although I don¡¯t like advisers as a group, you were one of the good ones.¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± said Kargas, glancing at his watch. ¡°It is time. Let¡¯s get started.¡±


    After standing up, Millwright extended his hand and said, ¡°It¡¯s been an honor serving with you, Kargas.¡±


    ¡°And you too. Good luck.¡±


    As Kargas left the dugout and walked back down the long tunnel, he heard Millwright barking orders to his staff. Kargas ignored the rumbling of artillery and mentally rehearsed the complicated plan he had formulated months earlier to spirit the royal twins out of Aurora to safety when the city finally fell to the Rowowans. Although it contained plenty of moving parts, Kargas had simplified its execution by dividing it into three discrete sections. The first was Aurora¡¯s formal surrender. He left that unpleasant chore in Millwright¡¯s capable hands, with the sole proviso that the general delay the official handover of the city for at least twelve hours. The second called for shepherding Rael, Iona, and several others to a remote and isolated wharf that he had selected weeks earlier for this purpose. He had already assigned one of his assistants with that task.


    Kargas took it upon himself to take care of the third, and to his mind the most important, part of his plan: ensuring that the Rowowans could not locate the royal twins. In fact, he had already begun its implementation months earlier by ordering several of his assistants to gather and destroy every existing photograph of Rael and Iona they could locate. Because the king had kept the twins out of the public eye, it was a more manageable task than Kargas expected. At the same time, the assistants seeded public and private records with hundreds of photographs of dozens of different people encaptioned with Rael¡¯s and Iona¡¯s names. Kargas also spread disinformation about the twins¡¯ whereabouts, hobbies, tastes, health, and so forth. He hoped these deceptions would make it impossible for the Rowowans to develop an accurate and usable profile of the twins.


    It was a clever ploy, but Kargas knew that it would not fool for long the experienced men who populated the various Rowowan intelligence services. After bidding Millwright goodbye, Kargas made his way through the maze of tunnels under the palace to a cellar that overlooked the blasted remnants of the various government buildings south of city¡¯s center. When Kargas arrived, a young lieutenant was busy inspecting a tangle of wires that stretched from a detonator in the cellar to the royal archives building, a hundred yards away. Kargas watched the lieutenant go about his work for several minutes before announcing his intention to catch a few hours of sleep. With that, he plopped down on a cot, removed his boots, and was soon out like a light.


    Kargas was thoroughly accustomed to people interrupting his sleep, so he was neither surprised nor angry when one of his assistants awakened him in the middle of the night with word that Millwright and his Rowowan counterpart had hammered out surrender terms. The capitulation agreement called for the encircling Rowowan troops to take official possession of the capital at six o¡¯clock the following evening. Kargas grunted his acknowledgment of the news, inwardly pleased that Millwright had successfully fulfilled his part of the plan. When Kargas rose early next morning, the young lieutenant was still there. He introduced himself as Allen Oterio and offered Kargas a cup of coffee from a rusted pot in the corner of the room.


    As Kargas warmed his stiff hands with the coffee mug, he realized that the Rowowans had stopped shelling the city. It was therefore eerily calm and quiet. Thankful that he need not worry about enemy artillery fire, Kargas looked out of the exposed cellar window at the long, partially-covered wire stretching across and under the rubble to the royal archives. ¡°Are you sure it will work?¡±


    ¡°Adviser,¡± replied Oterio, ¡°when you give the word, I won¡¯t just destroy what¡¯s left of that building, I¡¯ll obliterate it.¡±


    Kargas snorted at the lieutenant¡¯s confidence. ¡°Okay, but are you sure no one will discover the explosives before you set them off?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely. I placed them in this cavern beneath the foundation, then walled it up. No one will find them anytime soon unless they know exactly where to look.¡±


    Kargas sipped his coffee while contemplating the blasted out shell of the royal archives. Although Rowowan artillery had demolished its exterior, he knew that its records remained safely stored in the underground levels. He remembered the first time he visited the building, back when he was a student. He had marveled that any one place could contain so much information.


    Lieutenant Oterio interrupted his thoughts. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking, sir, but what¡¯s the point of blowing up a building that¡¯s already mostly rubble? I¡¯m sure the explosion will scatter all the documents there in a million directions, but it won¡¯t destroy them all. Besides, aren¡¯t there duplicate copies elsewhere?¡±


    Kargas nodded. ¡°Oh, you are right. But I do not really care about the records one way or another. They are just bait.¡±


    ¡°Bait, sir?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± continued Kargas, suddenly alert. ¡°Do you see that dust cloud to the south?¡±


    Oterio craned his neck to look in that direction. ¡°Yes. So?¡±


    ¡°I am sure it is a convoy of vehicles carrying Rowowan rangers on their way to occupy the royal archives.¡±


    ¡°Rowowan rangers?¡± asked Oterio. ¡°But I heard that the handover isn¡¯t supposed to occur until tonight. What are they doing in the city now?¡±


    Kargas smiled grimly and turned to Oterio. ¡°Whenever the Rowowans accept the surrender of a city, they send their rangers in before the official handover to secure the important buildings so the defenders cannot destroy the records. It is a violation of the surrender terms, but you can do that when you are the winner.¡±


    For fifteen minutes they watched the column of trucks thread its way through the debris that littered the city¡¯s streets. ¡°Where are you from?¡± Kargas asked, mostly to fill the time and diffuse the rising tension.


    ¡°Barbod,¡± Oterio replied. ¡°It¡¯s in the southern wastelands.¡±


    "Beautiful country,¡± Kargas said. ¡°Harsh, though.¡±


    ¡°It is.¡±


    ¡°What did you do before the war?¡±


    ¡°I was a goat herder,¡± said Oterio.


    Kargas laughed. ¡°Are you looking forward to resuming your career?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Oterio. ¡°The army taught me all about explosives. I want to work for a mining company. Better pay, better life.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± said Kargas, ¡°wars do generate social mobility.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± said Oterio. ¡°But if it was a choice between missing the war and spending the rest of my life as a goat herder or going through what I¡¯ve been through these last few years, I would rather be a goat herder.¡±


    Finally, the convoy of vehicles stopped in front of the royal archives and disgorged a platoon of rangers, fit and lean, who swarmed the building. Oterio fussed with the detonator and muttered to Kargas, ¡°I hate those guys. Just give me that word.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± responded Kargas. ¡°Wait. They are not the target.¡±


    For another half hour they watched the building in silence. Finally, a ranger officer emerged from what had once been its entrance to give the all clear. Shortly afterwards, another column of trucks appeared containing dozens of men. They were not rangers; they were older, fatter, and balder. They tumbled out of the truckbeds without any of the athletic grace the rangers had displayed earlier.


    Kargas smirked. ¡°Do you see those men?¡± he asked Oterio, gesturing toward the middle-aged soldiers now stretching their legs next to the trucks.


    Oterio nodded.


    ¡°They are analysts. They are part of a Rowowan interagency intelligence group called the Inquiry. They are the best and brightest intelligence officers in the Rowowan army. They know everything there is to know about Alleria. They have an encyclopedic knowledge of our politics, culture, military, economics. They knew what time the king shit every day.¡± He paused, then said almost to himself, ¡°They are good at what they do. Very good.¡±


    Oterio suddenly understood and smiled. ¡°I see.¡±


    Kargas elaborated anyway, more for his own reassurance than to enlighten Oterio. ¡°If we kill these fellows, we eliminate much of Rowowa¡¯s institutional understanding of Alleria. It will make it impossible for them to rule us effectively. For them it will be like entering into a marriage with a woman you do not know. Those kind of marriages invariably fail.¡±


    Kargas refrained from explaining to Oterio that killing these men would also make it much more difficult for the Rowowans to locate the royal twins. Rowowa had a dozen quarreling intelligence agencies that jealously guarded their prerogatives and information. They had acquiesced to the Inquiry¡¯s formation during one of the war¡¯s lowpoints. Kargas hoped that once the conflict was over and the Inquiry¡¯s members were dead, the Rowowans would be unwilling or unable to reconstitute it. Although each of the empire¡¯s intelligence agencies might acquire pieces of information about the twins¡¯ whereabouts, a lack of resources and cooperation would prevent any of them from assembling the entire puzzle.


    When the Inquiry members shuffled into the royal archives, Kargas turned to Oterio. ¡°Get ready on my signal.¡± Kargas imagined them spreading out though the basement, identifying filing cabinets and rifling through folders. After another half hour elapsed, a ranger stepped out into the street and lit a cigarette. As soon as he took his first long drag, Kargas said, ¡°Now. Do it.¡±


    Oterio pushed down on the detonator. After an anxious pause, a deafening explosion shook the area and the royal archives disappeared in a haze of smoke and debris. Kargas and Oterio fell to the ground and covered their heads. When the air cleared fifteen minutes later, demolished vehicles, overturned stones and bricks, and broken bodies littered the area. The sight would have once horrified Kargas and Oterio, but years of war had hardened their hearts to such destruction.


    ¡°Okay,¡± said Kargas. ¡°That is that.¡±


    After dismissing Oterio and wishing him Godspeed, Kargas plunged back into the maze of tunnels that riddled the ground beneath the capital. Months earlier one of his assistants worried that the Rowowans might acquire a diagram of the miles of catacombs, passageways, and sewers under Aurora. Karagas, however, had laughed that no one possessed such a map. It had been funny then, but not now. He pressed forward, aided by his flashlight, memory, and some orange chalk marks scratched on the damp walls. Despite his occasional disorientation, he was not inclined to fret much. As far as he was concerned, there was a solution to every problem, big or small. It did not matter whether it was finding his way through a tunnel system or restoring Allerian independence. All that he needed was persistence and intelligence, two traits he possessed in abundance. After an hour or so, he pushed open a storm drain grate at the base of a knoll in the middle of a swamp a quarter mile outside of the city limits, just beyond the constricting coils of the Rowowan army. He rested and let his eyes adjust to the sunlight before hiking another hour on a narrow path through the dense vegetation. Finally, sometime after noon, he reached an old shack by a jetty, alongside which was tied a ramshackle motorboat.


    A big, burly, heavily-bearded man stood guard with a rifle in front of the shack. Kargas had met Karl Lattamore five years earlier at a Highrealm field hospital. Lattamore was recovering from a painful belly wound when Kargas interviewed him about a new machine gun that the Rowowans had developed. Kargas was so impressed with the young sergeant¡¯s eye for detail and astuteness that he had him transferred to his office. In the ensuing years, Lattamore had become Kargas¡¯s most capable and trusted assistant, successfully completing even the toughest assignments. His most recent one included procuring the boat bobbing alongside the jetty. The two men had not seen each other in months, so their greetings were warm and joyful.


    ¡°Please tell me that they are in there,¡± Kargas said, gesturing at the shack.


    ¡°Oh, yes,¡± Lattamore replied. ¡°They¡¯re tired and disoriented, but otherwise ready to go.¡±


    Kargas sighed in relief. ¡°Do they look like working class refugees fleeing the Rowowans?¡±


    Lattamore laughed. ¡°Well, one of them does. The rest look like rich people disguised as working class refugees fleeing the Rowowans.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± said Kargas, ¡°it will have to do for now.¡±


    The shack¡¯s occupants stumbled out into the sunlight while Kargas and Lattamore talked. There were four of them: Prince Rael, Princess Iona, Iona¡¯s fifteen-year old servant girl Lana, and an old friend of Rael¡¯s named Frederick Fitzpatrick. Although Kargas had several weeks ago forewarned them of their imminent exodus from Aurora, none of them appeared psychologically ready for the trip. As they boarded the boat, Rael asked, ¡°Now can you tell us where we¡¯re going?¡±


    ¡°Yes I can,¡± replied Kargas. ¡°Kirkwell Island.¡±

 4. Kirkwell

    Chapter Four


    KIRKWELL


    The Ladle Archipelago coated Alleria¡¯s northern coastline almost to Aurora¡¯s doorstep with more than one hundred islands of varying shapes and sizes. Kirkwell was the name of both the northwesternmost island on the archipelago¡¯s long handle and its one and only city. At forty square miles, Kirkwell looked like an apostrophe plopped down in the sea. It was a barren, windswept place with long dark winters and bright mild summers. Its inhabitants owed their livelihoods to sheep raising, shipbuilding, and fishing. An influx of war workers and refugees, however, had almost doubled its prewar population of fifteen thousand. Kargas selected Kirkwell as the royal twins¡¯ hideout partly because he had early in his career lived there and partly because it was one of the most remote and isolated places in Alleria with any culture and infrastructure.


    Kargas waited until nightfall before ordering Lattamore to slip the boat¡¯s cables and push into the archipelago¡¯s maze of waterways. He knew that there were plenty of dangers lurking ahead. For one thing, many of the channels Lattamore planned to use were so poorly-charted that even the most skilled captains had difficulty navigating them. In addition, the war¡¯s backwash ¨C smugglers, deserters, refugees, and discharged soldiers ¨C filled the region. Although they were Allerian, Kargas knew that their interests did not necessarily match his own. Finally, Rowowan forces were filtering in to establish their authority and quash those Allerians who had not yet surrendered. Despite his worries, Kargas had confidence in Lattamore¡¯s ability to overcome such obstacles. They traveled mostly at night, passing the days in isolated coves that Lattamore had selected beforehand. Everyone suffered from the resulting tedium and tension, but Iona also succumbed to seasickness so severe that she was unable to keep anything down or even walk around. She spent most of the voyage sprawled out on a cot below deck. By the second evening, she wondered if she would have been better off falling into Rowowan hands.


    Shortly after midnight on their fourth night on the water, Lattamore spotted Kirkwell¡¯s streetlights in the distance. Two hours later, he eased the motorboat alongside a pier tucked away in a small inlet adjacent to the city. A heavy, pipe-smoking, baby-faced man hustled down to greet them as they disembarked. Lloyd Juganhouse was another of Kargas¡¯s trusted assistants. Four months earlier, upon deciding upon Kirkwell as the royal twins¡¯ refuge, Kargas had arranged Juganhouse¡¯s appointment as Kirkwell¡¯s mayor. Juganhouse, in turn, had upon assuming his post selected Lattamore as the city¡¯s police chief. After brief introductions, Juganhouse led the party down a back alley to a beach house he had purchased for them. Although it appeared cozy and unobtrusive from the outside, it contained sufficient space to provide Rael and Iona with small suites, as well as rooms for Kargas, Iona¡¯s servant girl Lana, and Frederick. Juganhouse explained apologetically that he had furnished the house in a hodgepodge manner to avoid attracting too much attention. After four days of vomiting in the boat, though, it seemed like paradise to Iona.


    Because Kargas expected the Rowowans to turn Alleria upside down in their search for the royal twins, he had thought carefully about the best way to conceal them on Kirkwell. The day after they reached the city, he met alone with Rael and Iona in his room in their beach house. Iona was still so queasy and unsteady that she just wanted to return to her bed. Rael, on the other hand, was eager to explore his new home. After explaining their new names and backstories, Kargas gave them the forged documents necessary to prove their assumed identities. Although there were innumerable and often contradictory descriptions of the twins circulating, Kargas saw no reason to make the Rowowans¡¯ task any easier. He persuaded Rael to shave his mustache, alter his hair style, and dress in a more plebian manner. Iona was predictably more difficult. She refused to cut her long blonde hair, but by way of compromise agreed to wear it up while in public. Kargas had concluded that keeping the twins cloistered in their beach house would generate rumors and attract unwanted attention. He instead urged them to get out and become involved in the community. After all, Kirkwell was full of refugees. Two more trying to establish themselves on the island would raise no suspicions as long as they were not seen together very often. Summing things up, Kargas stated that their best camouflage was hiding in plain sight.


    As things turned out, Rael had little trouble adjusting to his new life. He was an outgoing man whose status predisposed people to give him the benefit of the doubt and forgive his foibles. Incognito did not erase his attitude. Moreover, he had Frederick to keep him company. The two men plunged into Kirkwell¡¯s limited social scene by frequenting the city¡¯s various watering holes. Iona, however, had a more difficult time fitting in. She was fond of her servant, Lana, but Lana was at fifteen still more a child than a woman with whom Iona could exchange confidences. Iona disliked beginnings and environments in which she was uncertain of her standing. Under such circumstances, she became anxious and withdrawn. Her expeditions into Kirkwell depressed her. For one thing, wounded veterans seemed everywhere ¨C men with empty sleeves and trouser legs, disfiguring scars, and eyepatches. Others had haunted looks that indicated psychological injuries every bit as profound as those physically shattered by the conflict. She could also identify widows by the emptiness in their eyes. Iona felt a sense of responsibility toward all these people because they had sacrificed so much for her family and gotten little in return but suffering, loss, and dislocation. Finally, and most disconcertingly, there were the random individuals she saw who reminded her of people from her past: a clerk at the bakery who looked like a Valgor diplomat, a woman sitting on a bench who could have been a teacher¡¯s twin, and a bookstore owner who was the spitting image of a boy she knew from the royal academy. Small wonder Iona found Kirkwell eerie and distressing.


    Not surprisingly, the stress, boredom, and loneliness of her new environment resurrected some of Iona¡¯s worst tendencies. She grew irritable with those around her, complained about even minor inconveniences, and treated Lana poorly. Most ominously, she turned her attention to Frederick. On the surface, this did not seem like a bad idea. There was in fact much to commend Frederick. His family was one of Alleria¡¯s most distinguished and venerated. He and Iona had known each other since childhood and had attended the royal academy together. Frederick was a handsome man, taller and better defined than Rael, with close cut blond hair and steely blue eyes. He enjoyed the finer things in life, from the silk shirts he habitually wore to the pistachios he frequently ate. He was also more intelligent and less flamboyant than his royal friend. Both were confident, but Frederick¡¯s self-possession was based on an understanding of his abilities, not his station in life. Whereas Rael tended to give up easily if his status and looks could not immediately secure what he wanted, Frederick was more patient and persistent. There was also a vaguely mysterious and dangerous quality to him that women such as Iona found irresistible. It was not exactly arrogance, but rather the self-confidence of a man accustomed to achieving his goals in such a way that pleased everyone around him.


    Unfortunately, a troubled history between the two counterbalanced such positives. Both had been popular students at the royal academy. Iona was after all a beautiful princess, and Frederick was the dashing scion of a prominent Allerian family. Their short and intense adolescent romance was as predictable as its messy ending. First of all, the relationship cost Iona her virginity. Although sexual activity was hardly uncommon in such elite circles, her father was greatly distressed when he learned the news from his sources. In addition, the liaison aroused considerable jealousy and resentment among Iona¡¯s friends. Finally, Iona¡¯s selfishness, neediness, and high-handedness soon drove Frederick into the arms of another, more agreeable, woman. Iona was predictably devastated and furious with what she considered Frederick¡¯s betrayal, and she made her displeasure known to everyone. All this drama so roiled the royal academy that the king ordered Kargas, then a young assistant adviser to the royal family, to restore tranquility. Happily for Kargas, the oncoming war with Rowowa diverted everyone¡¯s attention from these parochial concerns.


    Iona sorted through all these feelings and memories one afternoon while sitting on the back porch of the beach house and watching the wind sweep across the water. She had hardly spoken to Frederick since he and Rael went off to war nearly ten years ago. Although Frederick had returned with Rael to the capital toward the end of the Rowowan siege, Iona was too busy nursing her father through his final illness to pay much attention to him. Iona was so seasick during their voyage to Kirkwell that she scarcely interacted with him during those four long days. After they reached the island, though, they had exchanged pleasantries while eating their meals in the dining room. Time had so dulled her once bitter recollections of their brief romance that she was inclined to attribute their previous troubles to youthfulness and immaturity. Moreover, she noticed that he had retained his good looks and self-confidence. He was also familiar and available. These were all important factors, but there was more to it than that. Frederick possessed a certain alluring animal magnetism that she could not explain. He was edgy and dangerous, the kind of man who could make a woman feel desired, adventurous, and alive. She sensed it every time they were in the same room, that electricity that certain men were capable of generating. He may not have shared her love of literature, languages, solitude, and reading, but that did not seem to matter. His attitude is what counted.


    Despite her rather dismal track record in the field, Iona felt that she had learned through hard experience a great deal about romance since her days at the royal academy. Indeed, she had come to view it in almost clinical terms. She thought that the goal of any romantic relationship was to provide her with a predictable and ample supply of emotional sustenance ¨C love ¨C without risking or losing anything in return. To achieve this objective, she believed that she needed to control the pace and depth of the courtship process ¨C how fast it progressed and how intimate it became. Sexuality was the key. Indeed, she saw her sexuality as her deus ex machina, something that served as lever, bait, and drug all rolled into one. Applying it, though, required a subtlety and deftness that she had spent years perfecting. She knew to show just enough interest in a man to attract his attention, but not enough for him to be certain of her feelings. This meant saying no as often as yes, keeping conversations flirtatious and superficial, and never committing to anything. Doing so forced him to work hard and gave him the illusion of possessing the initiative. If all went well, the end result was a man who told her what she wanted to hear and did what she wanted done.


    Oddly enough, Iona was aware that the romantic tactics in which she took such pride rarely yielded for long the results she wanted. For this she blamed sex. Although she understood its importance, she did not think much of the act one way or another. She felt the biological urge for it, but disliked its messiness and awkwardness. Indeed, she suspected that its full enjoyment required a vulnerability she was unwilling to demonstrate. Whatever her feelings on the subject, she knew it was part of the process. But that was the problem. If she withheld sex for too long from a man in whom she was interested, he became frustrated and moved on. On the other hand, bestowing sex made him complacent and unappreciative. It was a puzzle she had never been successful in resolving. She wondered why such conundrums did not seem to apply to men. They took sex where they found it without putting much thought into the larger issues surrounding the act. It made her question whether they were that smart or that dumb.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Whatever Iona¡¯s qualms, boredom, habit, and Frederick¡¯s magnetism pushed her into undertaking yet another romantic adventure. He unknowingly confirmed her desires two weeks after they reached Kirkwell. Frederick and Rael were tossing a ball around on the beach one evening when a hysterical woman ran up to them and exclaimed that her child had somehow stranded himself on an old dilapidated pier. While Rael struggled unsuccessfully to calm her down, Frederick plunged into the surf, swam to the pier, retrieved the child, and hauled him back to shore. An admiring Iona watched him strike a pose in the setting sun, shirtless, with the water dripping down his sculpted chest, as he basked in the mother¡¯s gratitude. That, she thought to herself, is the man she had always wanted Frederick to be ¨C and the one she now wanted to have.


    Attracting Frederick¡¯s attention was initially more difficult than Iona expected. He was friendly, but not as interested as Iona hoped. Iona attributed this to the other sexual opportunities available to him in a city full of young widows, as well as unhappy memories from their previous relationship. Even so, their proximity made it difficult for him to ignore her beauty, status, and increasingly obvious overtures. Once he recognized her intentions and calculated the advantages involved, though, their renewed friendship progressed rapidly. Iona¡¯s dislike of Kirkwell¡¯s social amenities did not prevent her from accompanying him to the local theater on several occasions. Their previous familiarity enabled them to fast forward through the courtship, so that by the beginning of winter they had become physically intimate.


    There was nothing unusual about Iona¡¯s romance with Frederick. She had participated in a dozen such relationships during the war. Nor was there anything out of the ordinary about the frustrations and doubts she soon felt about it. For one thing, Frederick was uninterested in anything beyond the immediate. Literature, politics, science, philosophy, and the rest of the world¡¯s big subjects bored him. Ten years of war had narrowed and stunted his outlook, emptying his mind of everything beyond life¡¯s day-to-day concerns. Small wonder he found Kirkwell so accommodating. Moreover, Frederick continued to go out with Rael and sometimes did not return to their beach house until the next day. He was invariably vague when Iona asked of his whereabouts. Iona refrained from the tantrums and tirades that such responses once provoked from her. Kargas had warned her to avoid behavior that would attract attention, and voices carried even in their secluded homestead. Besides, she wanted to show Frederick that she had matured since their last romance. It was not easy, though. Frederick made no effort to defend his actions, but simply left the room and later acted as if the argument, such as it was, had never taken place. To Iona, the control she so valued was rapidly slipping away.


    Although Iona and Rael were twins, they had never been especially close. Iona resented that Rael was heir simply because of his gender. Rael, for his part, suspected deep down that Iona was more suited for the throne. As a result, they shunned the kind of discussions that revealed and overcame such insecurities. It was, however, impossible for them to avoid each other in their Kirkwell home. One afternoon they found themselves together in the study. Before the silence grew unbearably awkward, Rael asked one of his questions that was simultaneously innocent and inappropriate.


    ¡°So, are you with Frederick now?¡±


    Iona looked up from her book. ¡°Why? What did he tell you?¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± said Rael. ¡°I don¡¯t pry into his personal business. It¡¯s just a question based on observation.¡±


    Iona considered her options before responding defiantly. ¡°Yes, we are. It¡¯s wonderful being with someone like Frederick.¡±


    Rael chuckled at her bravado. ¡°You know, he¡¯s not the marrying kind.¡±


    Iona sneered. ¡°Who said anything about marriage?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± said Rael, ¡°if you don¡¯t want to marry him, then why are you seeing him?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not all about marriage ¨C as you well know.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± said Rael, ¡°But from what I hear and have seen, these kinds of relationships make you miserable.¡±


    ¡°Have you ever considered that I might want some companionship?¡± Iona huffed.


    ¡°Companionship?¡± snorted Rael. ¡°You¡¯re alone all the time. You read alone and walk alone¡­.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s different,¡± Iona responded. ¡°Sometimes I want time to myself, but that doesn¡¯t mean I want to be alone.¡±


    Rael arched his eyebrows. ¡°Then why don¡¯t you get a platonic friend? Or a dog?¡±


    Iona started to dismiss him, but changed her mind and offered him an explanation. ¡°Not that kind of companionship. I want more than that. Besides, you¡¯re a man, so you wouldn¡¯t understand.¡±


    Rael scoffed. ¡°Sounds to me like you want a love slave to fill up all your leisure time. Too bad that¡¯s been illegal for two hundred years.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous,¡± retorted Iona. ¡°And anyway, what do you know about relationships?¡±


    ¡°I know enough about them to avoid them until I¡¯m on the throne.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± replied Iona, ¡°That¡¯s your prerogative.¡±


    Rael smiled. ¡°Indeed it is, and I¡¯m happy with my decision. And it works for me. Are you happy with yours?¡±


    Before Iona could respond to the question, Rael made it rhetorical by abruptly leaving the room.


    That evening, Iona and Frederick went out to dinner at one of Kirkwell¡¯s finer establishments, followed by a walk along the beachfront. As the evening progressed, Iona became increasingly conscious of their lack of communication. Frederick seemed disinclined to initiate or hold up his end of the conversation. He responded to her questions and comments with noncommittal grunts and long silences. The more aware she became of his taciturnity, the more frustrating she found it. It was almost a relief to go to her suite and tumble into her bed. Sex required minimal talking.


    Afterwards, as she lay in bed with her head on his chest, she asked, ¡°Where do you think we¡¯ll be at this time next year?¡±


    Frederick reached over and took a long drag from a cigarette. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Iona persisted. ¡°Do you think we¡¯ll still be on Kirkwell? Maybe Rael will be king? What do you think will become of us?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Iona¡¯s temper rose. ¡°Well, surely you must have some opinion on the matter?¡±


    Frederick reached over her head to crush the cigarette out on an ashtray. ¡°Look, Iona, I spent ten years wondering if I was going to survive to see the following day. I¡¯m not interested in next year.¡±


    Iona rolled onto her back and pulled the covers over her breasts. ¡°What do you want in life? Anything?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Frederick replied. ¡°I want to enjoy it. I spent ten years fighting for your family. Ten years I will never get back and in many respects prefer not to remember. I want to eat, drink, and be merry. You¡¯re interrogation is not making that easy.¡±


    They lay in silence for several awkward minutes. Finally, Frederick got up, put on his clothes, and left the room. Iona stayed in bed and sulked. Her brooding, though, produced that rarest of events: an epiphany. Whatever his attributes, her romance with Frederick ¨C indeed, any relationship of this sort ¨C was clearly a dead end that promised little more than diminishing returns. That being the case, she decided to terminate it. Frederick accepted her decision during a late afternoon discussion on the beach house¡¯s front porch two days later without much comment or emotion. Before he walked away, though, he asked one question clearly designed to demolish her self-worth: ¡°What will you do without a man in your life?¡±


    Although Iona had ended relationships before, this time she intended to find a healthier way to use her time as a newly-unattached woman. The day before her conversation with Rael, she had learned that the Kirkwell school was looking for a secretary. It was a low-level position that involved filing and paperwork, but Iona concluded that it would keep her occupied and productive. Unfortunately, Kargas did not believe it was a good idea, but would or could not explain why. Finally, Iona said, ¡°I don¡¯t see why not. If I¡¯m going to blend into the community as an unmarried woman, I ought to have some sort of employment.¡±


    Kargas hesitated, sighed heavily, and asked, ¡°May I speak frankly, your highness?¡±


    ¡°Please.¡±


    Kargas chose his words carefully. ¡°During the war you¡­did not fulfill the commitments you undertook, often under rather public circumstances. Then it was merely embarrassing to the crown. Now, though, it could prove disastrous because it could lead to your exposure.¡±


    Iona had of course felt shame before, but it was supremely humiliating to hear the royal adviser tell her that he did not trust her to accomplish the simplest of tasks. She started to express her outrage, but then realized that doing so would merely confirm Kargas¡¯s conclusions. Instead, she caught her breath and appealed to logic.


    ¡°I want to be useful. I have no husband or children to occupy my time. I don¡¯t keep this house. Someone else cooks and cleans and sews. I know I haven¡¯t always lived up to your expectations, but circumstances have changed. I have changed. I assure you.¡±


    Kargas softened. ¡°Okay. We can try it. I will talk to the principal, or have the mayor do so.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Iona. ¡°Let me apply for the position like anyone else.¡±


    Kargas raised his eyebrows. ¡°Well, alright. But remember you cannot expect any special treatment once you start ¨C assuming you get the job.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    As Iona got out of her seat, Kargas said, ¡°I understand you have ended your¡­relationship with Frederick.¡±


    Iona was never sure how much Kargas knew about her personal life, so she tried not to think about it. Nonetheless, she was not surprised by this knowledge. She simply stated, ¡°Yes.¡±


    Kargas replied, ¡°I am happy that you did so quietly.¡±


    As things turned out, Iona had little difficulty securing the job. Her obvious refinement, education, and beauty so impressed the principal that he offered her the post at the end of the interview. Although the work was initially quite mundane ¨C mostly filing ¨C Iona discovered a certain contentment in the structure it provided. Her days became predictable and orderly, so she was rarely at loose ends. She valued her limited free time more, and became bored less. Kargas had made it clear that quitting was not an option, so she tolerated the indignities and problems that accompanied such a low-level position. She showed up on time, worked hard, and tried to be pleasant. As a result, within weeks the principal increased her responsibilities. She did the paperwork to pay the school¡¯s bills and buy supplies, freeing the principal to focus on his teachers and students. By the end of the year, Iona had found a place for herself as the principal¡¯s chief assistant. She was proud that she had done so based on her own merits, not on her royal status.


    A week before Christmas Mayor Juganhouse threw a party at his house for some of the city¡¯s bigwigs: councilmen, high-ranking civil servants, prominent businessmen, and so forth. Iona and Rael were among those invited. Kargas acquiesced on the condition that they arrive and leave separately. Now that she was employed, Iona could talk shop with many of the attendees. She discovered that she enjoyed discussing the minutiae of small town life. After an hour or so, the house¡¯s stuffiness drove her out to the porch for some fresh air. There she ran into a cigarette-smoking and pistachio-munching Frederick.


    ¡°Nice party,¡± Frederick.


    Iona ignored the sarcasm in his voice. ¡°Yes, everything is very pleasant.¡±


    Frederick took a long drag on his cigarette. ¡°It¡¯s certainly not like the ones at the palace before the war.¡±


    ¡°Of course not. I¡¯m not sure that¡¯s a bad thing.¡±


    Frederick was not nostalgic, so Iona was surprised when he referenced a party they attended long ago. ¡°Remember when we stole that bottle of wine and woke up naked in the servants¡¯ quarters?¡±


    Iona nodded, but chose not to elaborate. The truth was that she had found the incident embarrassing then and in retrospect. When her father learned the details, he told her that it was the first time he had ever been ashamed of her. It occurred to her that there is no escaping your past. Even if you do manage to put it out of your mind, someone will always appear to remind you of it.

 5. The Uncertain Widow

    Chapter Five


    THE UNCERTAIN WIDOW


    Because the train station could not accommodate the anticipated crowds, the town fathers moved the planned celebration to a lot fifty yards from the platform. A self-appointed committee of women decorated the area with streamers and bunting while city workers filled in the potholes, erected risers for the elderly and crippled, and set up a podium on a makeshift pallet for the mayor to deliver his speech on behalf of the town and the Rowowan empire. Some worried about the cold, but most assumed that the joyful feelings would warm everyone physically as well as emotionally. It was an important day. After ten years of war, the surviving Digby area soldiers were finally returning home to their loved ones.


    The crowds started arriving long before the train was due. As the lot gradually filled with people, a feeling of anticipation and excitement told hold. Everyone overlooked the cold, the rambunctious children, and the slushy mud. They instead focused on exchanging news and keeping their eyes peeled for the locomotive¡¯s smoke in the distance. Old men and wounded veterans huddled in circles of stomping feet, animated conversation, and cigarette smoke. The women, on the other hand, were nervous and expectant. In a war that generated shortages of almost everything but sadness and heartache, perhaps the biggest scarcity had been masculinity. Although everyone was aware that a good many of these men were returning physically and psychologically damaged, they were still men. Wives and sweethearts were eager to reclaim them. As for the unfortunate number of widows, only a minority dressed in mourning to honor the memory of their departed husbands. Most were more interested in advertising their availability than in burying their dead. If there was going to be a windfall of men, they wanted to be on hand to stake their claims.


    Abbelina had hesitated to attend the celebration. She was a thin, pale brunette in her thirties whose vivaciousness was another of the war¡¯s casualties. Sometimes she envied the widows because at least they knew their husbands¡¯ fates. Abbelina¡¯s husband, on the other hand, had been missing for more than two years, and no one in or out of the army could provide any more information than that. She often had nightmares of him dying alone and afraid in some Allerian ditch, haunted by the state of their marriage and consumed by hate.  Although her initial inclination was to stay home, the possibility that a returning soldier might have news about him convinced her to go. She drove her mother¡¯s automobile down the road to Digby, parked in a muddy field, and found a place in the back of the crowd. As usual, most of the people she recognized studiously avoided her or said hello only in passing. Rather than generate discomfort through eye contact, she opened a book and pretended to read it.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    The train¡¯s predictable tardiness only increased the collective tension. When its whistle announced its imminent arrival, the crowd quickly sorted itself as parents and children found each other and moved to the ribbon separating them from the platform. It seemed to take forever, but the train eventually came into view and chugged into the station. As the returning soldiers disembarked, city officials herded them behind the podium to the platform from which the mayor planned to make a few appropriate remarks. However, minutes after the mayor started his speech, Piper Laudable¡¯s three-year-old began pointing at her brother and yelling his name. Then Mary Sorinsky¡¯s twelve-year-old daughter bolted under the ribbon and threw her arms around her father. Little Sally Boverton followed suit, ripping the ribbon in two on her way to embrace her uncle. With that, the crowd surged forward onto the platform. The mayor gave up and left the podium to join his wife in search of their one surviving son.


    From her vantage point in the back, Abbelina closely scrutinized each soldier as he got off the train and walked behind the podium, but she did not see her husband. She did, however, notice Andrew Pickfield smoking a cigarette. She and Andrew had run in the same social circles before the war, and had even dated briefly. As she hurried over to see him, his wife suddenly pushed past her to threw her arms around him. At the same time, Emma Eichelberger grabbed Abbelina¡¯s arm.


    ¡°Abbelina.¡±


    Abbelina turned to face her and tried to yank her arm away, but Emma held on tight.


    ¡°Abbelina,¡± Emma said again, more forcefully. ¡°This isn¡¯t the time and place for you.¡±


    ¡°Let go!¡± Abbelina exclaimed as Andrew and his wife moved away, oblivious to the confrontation.


    Emma pulled Abbelina in closer. ¡°Don¡¯t do this now.¡±


    Abbelina suddenly felt all the energy and determination drain out of her. Emma sensed it too and released her grip. Abbelina started to talk, but instead walked away toward the back of the crowd. Emma was right: no one wanted to see her now. She was simply another unpleasant reminder of the poor decisions the war had spawned. Abbelina wandered the outskirts of the crowd, eavesdropping on joyful conversations and feeling more ghost than human. She remembered bitterly times before the war when she was the center of attention. Before the resentment overwhelmed her, she returned to her car and drove home. After dropping the vehicle off at her mother¡¯s, Abbelina stopped at the playground across the street from her house to sit on the swing, a coping mechanism she acquired as a child. She refrained from crying until she plopped down at her kitchen table to drink tea and watch the snow flurries as the sun dipped below the horizon. It was Christmas eve.

 6. The Refugee

    Chapter Six


    THE REFUGEE


    The war¡¯s end did not appreciably change everyday life on Kirkwell. The year closed without the expected arrival of Rowowan soldiers to garrison the island. There were plenty of reasons for this apparent neglect. For one thing, the Rowowans had to divert troops to crush sporadic resistance in the southern wastelands and Ethosia, quell riots in their eastern provinces, and squash tribal unrest in the far north. To complicate matters, internal dissention wracked the Rowowan imperial council. Council members brandished captured Allerian government documents as they accused each other of wartime collusion with the enemy. The resulting paralysis and discord slowed Rowowan efforts to incorporate Alleria into its empire. As a result, for most Kirkwellians life continued along familiar patterns. The local sales tax provided funds for the city¡¯s government to operate. The police maintained law and order, the courts dispensed justice, and city workers collected garbage and filled potholes. The hospital, school, and library functioned. Shops, stores, and factories remained open. Churches and civic organizations tended to the needy and displaced. There were certainly some inconveniences. Many goods remained in short supply because it was difficult, though not impossible, to conduct business in the region. Mail and telegraph services were unpredictable. Most of these challenges, though, were nothing new and could be accommodated. The iron law of supply and demand held true even in this political vacuum. Although people realized on an intellectual level that this bizarre yet comparatively benign state of limbo would not last forever, many hoped against hope that it would.


    The winter¡¯s first big storm blew across Kirkwell soon after the new year, blanketing the island under more than a foot of snow. Roy Czezarchek¡¯s alarm clock went off just as the last flakes fell from the sky and the clouds gave way. He lived alone in a drafty little row house near the center of the city. He drank a hot cup of tea to warm himself up while watching the remaining flurries dance in the wind in front of the streetlights across the road. When he was done he bundled up and plunged into the frozen darkness to walk the half mile to his bookstore near the docks. The streets were deserted and all was quiet. The powdery and untouched snow sparkled in the moonlight until he crunched it beneath his boots. It was so cold that he had trouble breathing, but he kept his head down and his gloved hands deep in his coat pockets as he moved rapidly along the sidewalks. As soon as he unlocked his shop he retrieved a shovel to sweep his storefront clear. Then he turned on the lights, fired up the furnace, and brewed another cup of tea before starting on his day¡¯s checklist.


    Roy was not from Kirkwell. He was not even Allerian. He was actually born in Ethosia, the principality over which Alleria and Rowowa went to war. Two years earlier he had literally washed ashore at Kirkwell after a Rowowan submarine torpedoed the merchant ship on which he was serving. Fortunately, he arrived before the big wave of refugees at the end of the conflict exhausted the local population¡¯s goodwill toward displaced people. An old man whose son had died in the war befriended Roy, took him in, and bequeathed him his row house after he succumbed to tuberculosis. Roy initially secured work as a shipping clerk, but quit after a few months to open up a small bookstore that catered to blue collar workers and his fellow Ethosians. He labored hard to make it a success. He scoured the region to procure the kinds of books, newspapers, and journals his lower class clientele wanted. The owner of the adjacent bakery realized that their mutual customers bought more when they could sit and enjoy their daily newspaper and croissants, so he and Roy set up chairs and tables in the empty space between their shops. Because of these efforts, Roy¡¯s store turned a small profit, but doing so required a tremendous amount of time and energy.


    Roy led a lonely life. To be sure, he attended Kirkwell¡¯s Apostolic Church regularly and joined the island¡¯s business association, but he never fit in. Although people were invariably pleasant, there remained a barrier that prevented him from acquiring friends. Roy attributed this to a combination of their xenophobia and his personality. Until the war, most Kirkwellians had never ventured much beyond the Ladle Archipelago, so it was hardly surprising that they had difficulty understanding and accepting people from different cultures. And Roy was not an easy man to know. Quiet and wary, he rarely initiated personal conversations. His pessimistic view of human nature prevented him from trusting others easily. Few saw his wry sense of humor, sensitivity, and kindness. He missed Ethosia, especially in the spring when the scent of wild onions filled the air. His loneliness and homesickness, though, did not depress him. Unlike most Ethosians, he was safe, had food in his belly, clothes on his back, and a roof over his head. In a world torn apart by war and suffering, there was much to be said for these basic blessings.


    Roy tried to be grateful for all God had given him, but the loneliness was wearying.  He especially longed for female companionship; not only the physical aspect, but emotional intimacy as well.  It would, he often thought, be nice to talk with someone about his day when he returned home.  He especially missed the intoxication of infatuation ¨C the anticipation, the wondering, the newness and discovery, and the excitement.  He supposed it was akin to an addict¡¯s craving for a drug.  The problem was that he had never been good at meeting women.  Rejection deeply embarrassed him, and he had seen plenty of it when he was younger.  He looked instead for a woman to provide an opening, an expression of interest, some hint of welcome.  Such opportunities, though, had been few and far between since he reached Kirkwell.  Although the island contained plenty of unattached women, few frequented his bookstore, and hardly any of those engaged him in conversation.  Even so, he reminded himself that he only needed to attract one woman¡¯s attention, so he kept watching and waiting for her to arrive.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    As things turned out, she appeared soon after the new year. One morning a pretty young woman entered his store to browse his small poetry section. Roy noticed her immediately, but refrained from approaching her. After several minutes, though, she walked over to him and asked if he could procure the works of an obscure Valgoran poet. Maybe it was the glint in her eye or lilt in her laugh, but it seemed like something more than his usual interaction with a customer. He was instantly drawn to her short black hair, petite frame, and bright blue eyes. After he promised to see what he could do, she agreed to return at the end of next week. Roy could not stop thinking about her over the next few days. He wondered if there really was something special about her or if he was simply attracted to her because she showed interest in him. Either way, the infatuation provided a welcome break to the wintertime blues. He daydreamed about her constantly as he went about his daily drudgery. He had the book for her when she returned, as well as a story of its procurement to keep her in his shop. She seemed happy to chat, and stopped by almost every day the next week to pick up a newspaper for her father. Each time their conversations grew longer and more flirtatious. Finally, he mustered the courage to ask her to lunch. She smiled and responded, ¡°It¡¯s not as difficult to get me to go out with you as you seem to think.¡±


    Roy may have had trouble meeting women, but he had a knack for getting those he did know to reveal their innermost secrets, hopes, fears, and desires.  He did not believe that there was anything extraordinary or special about this talent.  It was simply a matter of asking the right questions ¨C personal, but not excessively so; at least not at first ¨C and listening attentively at the answers.  Roy had learned as a child that people love talking about themselves; it was the one subject upon which they could expound with authority and at length.  When he was younger and his hormones were stronger, he found this ability enormously frustrating because the emotional intimacy it created did not lead to the physical intimacy he craved.  Instead, confiding women to whom he was attracted rewarded him with friendship, not sex.  As a result, he often wondered whether women really valued the emotional over the physical because they were so free with the former and chary with the latter.  At least with him they were.  Over the years he had become more sanguine about such things and was inclined to look dispassionately at them.  However, his conclusion that the outcomes of such intimacies depended on the woman, the man, and the situation brought little clarity to his efforts to understand the opposite sex.


    Roy quickly discovered that there was nothing subtle about Anna Mullins. Although she was several years younger than him and had spent her life in and around Kirkwell, her self-confidence and wide circle of friends made her seem more worldly and sophisticated. She worked in an ammunition factory during most of the war, but by the time she walked into Roy¡¯s bookstore she was a secretary at the cannery. Unbeknownst to Roy, she lived caddy-corner from him in another row house just down the hill that she had inherited from her father years earlier. Indeed, she had made up the story about buying a newspaper for him to justify frequenting Roy¡¯s shop. Like everyone else her age, she scarcely remembered peacetime. Years of watching Kirkwell¡¯s men disappear into the army and then reappear months or years later on the casualty lists gave her a devil-may-care attitude toward life. She was a bawdy, outgoing, and fun-loving woman with a complicated romantic past. She enjoyed Kirkwell¡¯s limited night life and dreamed of moving to glamorous Emerald City. The problem was that she spent money as rapidly as she earned it, so she was unable to accumulate the funds necessary to leave Kirkwell. She and Roy shared an interest in poetry, Ethosian food, and people. She appreciated Roy¡¯s willingness to listen with a half smile to her anecdotes. She was particularly attracted to Roy¡¯s simplicity and emotional stability. She hoped that these traits would help keep her sufficiently grounded so she could make the sacrifices necessary to escape the backwater island once and for all.


    After so many years alone, Roy was thrilled to meet and spend time with someone. But although he liked Anna and appreciated her company, there was something about their budding relationship that bothered him, something that did not sit quite right. He was unsure whether the problem was on her or his end ¨C or a bit of each. She loved to talk and gossip, and was an endless source of amusing stories. Roy did not mind loquacious women, but she expressed little interest in his background, beliefs, and values. He rationalized that maybe her live-for-now lifestyle precluded curiosity about the past and future. Even so, he sometimes suspected that he was merely a placeholder to her, or a means to an end. On the other hand, maybe he was unwilling to give himself over to her because of his innate cautiousness. He realized that his infatuation would eventually fade. When that happened, he wondered if he would be willing or able to make the commitment that defines true love. Mulling these things over, he concluded that any difficulties between them would manifest themselves sooner or later. When and until they did, he may as well enjoy what he had.

 7. The Overlord

    Chapter Seven


    THE OVERLORD


    The Heath was a region in Alleria¡¯s northwestern quadrant just south of the Ladle Archipelago. It was so-called because of the expanse of scrub vegetation that stretched across its flat open countryside. Wincox was one of numerous small towns that dotted the Heath like islands in an ocean of undergrowth and brush. One late March morning a car pulled into the shabby hamlet and disgorged two men. The first one lit a cigarette while the second carefully scanned the ramshackle structures that framed the village square. Although the heavy rains that had swept through the area the previous night had stopped, the air remained clammy and cold. Before the two men could exchange words, a truck on the side of the road less than a hundred yards away exploded. The two men fell to the ground as debris rained down throughout the square and remained there until the locals emerged from their shops and dwellings to investigate the noise.


    As the two visitors rose and dusted themselves off, the shorter one snorted and shook his head. ¡°This is the end of the line for me. You can walk the rest of the way. Fillipin is only about a mile down that road. From there you can catch a boat to Kirkwell.¡±


    His companion doubted that it was only a mile to Fillipin, but did not believe that the vehicle could navigate the muddy and rutted road anyway. Besides, a walk would do him good after six hours in the car. It would also give him time to think. He shook the other man¡¯s hand. ¡°Make sure you visit Fillipin on schedule.¡±


    Horace Oxenstera was a tall, lanky, raw-boned man in his late thirties with a lantern jaw and a thatch of black hair. He walked with a slight limp and wore a patch over what had once been his left eye. Shrapnel scars pockmarked the left side of his face and neck. After he retrieved a duffel bag from the trunk of the car and bid his companion goodbye, he ambled down the road past the crowd gawking at the burning truck. He was a bit worried about getting lost in the Heath or encountering the bandits who had just made their presence known in town. On the other hand, the air was fresh and the countryside interesting. As he expected, Fillipin was a good bit more than a mile away, but he appreciated the extra time to consider his mission.


    By the time Horace reached Fillipin, the sun had come out from behind the clouds. Like Wincox, Fillipin was another squalid little village in the Heath. Its only distinction was the ferry that connected it to Kirkwell Island. Horace hiked through the town to the dock and bought a ticket at a small shack. While waiting for the departure time, he struck up a conversation with the boat operator, a squat man in his forties named Milo Jennings, as he prepared his vessel for the crossing. After exchanging pleasantries, the boat operator took a hard look at Horace.


    ¡°Where were you wounded?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Aurora.¡±


    ¡°Aurura? Last battle of the war. Bad luck.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± replied Horace.


    Jennings lit a cigarette and took a long drag. ¡°I was wounded at Momoweb. First big battle of the war. Lost my hand, but at least I missed the ten years of hell that followed. I got this job after I was discharged and I¡¯ve been ferrying people across the strait ever since. I¡¯ll tell you, though, that I brought a lot more men over to the mainland than I took back.¡±


    Horace gazed across the strait to Kirkwell. ¡°You must know the local geography pretty well. How many ways are there onto the island?¡±


    The boat operator thought a moment. ¡°Well, there are plenty of jetties all over the island. However, most people and all the cargo come through the Eastern Docks because they have the necessary infrastructure.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± said Horace. ¡°But let¡¯s say you own a bigger boat, one capable of traveling longer distances. Is there any place for it to tie up other than the Eastern Docks?¡±


    Jennings bit his lip. ¡°Not really. Or, more accurately, not officially. Smugglers used to use a dock on the northern side of the island, but it¡¯s abandoned now. Why do you want to know?¡±


    ¡°Just curious how people on an island such as Kirkwell communicate with the rest of the world.¡±


    Jennings grunted, checked his watch, and announced to the half dozen people milling about on the dock that it was time to go. He coaxed the engine to life and motored the boat across the strait to Kirkwell, only a couple hundred yards away. As the island grew larger, Horace felt increasingly anxious. He thought to himself that as soon as he grew comfortable with one phase of his journey, another loomed worryingly ahead.


    After Horace disembarked and thanked Jennings, he trudged up the road to the center of the city. He spent a few minutes there getting his bearings straight before walking over to the Wendig Hotel, the largest and best such establishment in town, to check into his room. The proprietress and namesake, a plump and pleasant-looking woman, studied him with professional dispassion as he signed the register. There was of course nothing unusual about a disfigured man securing lodgings in her hotel, but her clientele usually dressed better. The important thing, though, was that someone had prepaid the room for three months. That thought suddenly jogged her memory.


    ¡°Oh, Mr. Oxenstera. A large package arrived for you yesterday. I had it sent up to your room.¡±


    Horace thanked her and climbed the stairs to his nondescript second floor room. After opening the package and briefly examining its contents, he set an alarm, lay down on the bed, and soon fell asleep. He awoke several hours later more groggy than refreshed, and at first unaware of his surroundings. As his memory cleared, he could not help but wonder at the circumstances that had brought an Ippolacian bookkeeper halfway across the continent to this remote Allerian city. He slowly removed the package¡¯s contents, the dress uniform and accouterments of a Rowowan army major, and put them on. It was not his uniform ¨C the war was going so badly when he enlisted that he had never secured formal attire ¨C so he was unsurprised that it fit poorly. He examined himself in the mirror with his one good eye and concluded that he had seen better days. He looked at his watch, took a deep breath, and glanced at the mirror one more time. He then left the room, walked down the stairs and past the front desk, and plunged outside. He was halfway up the street when the first person noticed him ¨C or, more accurately, noticed his uniform. Fortunately, he reached city hall before anyone could do more than point and stare.


    Kirkwell¡¯s city council met every Monday evening in a nondescript room in city hall. When Horace arrived, the council members and a small group of spectators were milling about waiting for Mayor Juganhouse to call the session to order. Horace approached a large woman sitting at the clerk¡¯s desk and spoke quietly with her. She nodded several times before she noticed his uniform. Flustered, she rose from her chair and scurried across the room to speak to Juganhouse. As she did so, Juganhouse looked sharply at Horace and started whispering orders. The room began filling with people, some summoned by the mayor and others who had seen Horace walking down the street and wanted to know why a Rowowan officer was on their island. Kargas and police chief Lattamore were among the former. They quietly took seats toward the back row and scrutinized the Rowowan major awkwardly shuffling his feet by the clerk¡¯s desk.


    At six o¡¯clock Juganhouse took his seat with the other council members at a long table at the front of the room and banged his gavel to call the session to order. After everyone had settled down, he said, ¡°Unless anyone on the council objects, I want to introduce a speaker who has asked to say a few words. I know this is an unorthodox way to start a council meeting, but you will understand in a minute.¡±


    Horace walked over to the podium at the front of the room, took a quick breath, and scanned the audience. Although he had rehearsed his statement in his mind during his walk to Fillipan, he remained nervous. On the other hand, he took wry comfort in his assumption that there was nothing he could say to generate enough good will to overcome the reality his uniform represented. That removed some, though not all, of the pressure.


    ¡°Ladies and gentleman, my name is Major Horace Oxenstera. The Rowowan government has appointed me overlord of Kirkwell Island.¡± He paused to let that sink in. ¡°It is my job to represent the Rowowan empire and protect its interests here. It is not my intent to interfere in the day-to-day functioning of the local government as long as it conforms to the general principles of the Rowowan empire. With the council¡¯s permission, if anyone has any questions, I will be happy to try to answer them.¡±


    The audience and council members looked around at each other. A man in the back raised his hand and shouted. ¡°When will the troops arrive?¡±


    Horace squinted. ¡°Troops?¡±


    ¡°Yes, the garrison.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Horace said. ¡°The Rowowan army does not have the resources to occupy every city in Alleria. So there is no garrison. Or, I guess you could say that I¡¯m the ¨C ¡±


    Councilman Leonard Walker interrupted Horace. He was by far the council¡¯s most belligerent member. After the initial wave of enthusiasm for the war had faded, most people focused on getting through the conflict with as little trouble as possible. Walker, though, remained jingoistic to the very end. Indeed, he continued to espouse resistance to the Rowowan empire even after the old king¡¯s death. Despite his age ¨C he was over sixty ¨C he had tried several times during the conflict to join the Allerian army, but his arthritic knees prevented him from doing so.


    Walker stood up slowly and pointed at Horace. ¡°You, sir, represent a brutal, arbitrary, and aggressive occupying force, so I don¡¯t believe we can or should guarantee your safety.¡±


    Silence fell over the room. Kargas caught Juganhouse¡¯s attention and rolled his eyes. At the podium, Horace rubbed his chin before responding.


    ¡°Well,¡± Horace deadpanned, ¡°if anything happens to me, the Rowowan army would send a garrison to Kirkwell that you all would have to support, as well as a military governor who would rule by fiat. So it seems to me that my safety is in the interests of everyone here.¡±


    Walker grimaced and sat down. Horace looked around the room expectantly, but saw no more hands, so he took a seat toward the back right next to Kargas and nodded at him. The rest of the council meeting was anticlimactic, consisting of the usual business of local government: hirings, budgets, taxation, easements, and so forth. As the routine tedium took hold, the room gradually emptied. By the time Mayor Juganhouse entertained a motion to adjourn, two hours later, the crowd was almost back to its normal size.


    As soon as the council meeting ended, Kargas, Juganhouse, and Lattamore huddled in the mayor¡¯s office. Juganhouse took out a bottle of whiskey from his desk drawer, poured drinks, and asked, ¡°Well, what do you think of that?¡±


    Lattamore downed his glass. ¡°He¡¯s staying at the Wendig Hotel. I told one of my deputies to escort him back. The last thing we need is Walker and his buddies killing him in the street.¡±


    Kargas nodded his approval. ¡°Look, we knew that the Rowowans would eventually exert their authority here. It was only a question of when and how. I am surprised that it took them as long as it did. The fact that all they can spare for Kirkwell is a one-eyed major indicates that they are having trouble digesting Alleria and coping with their internal problems.¡±


    Mayor Juganhouse shrugged. ¡°What now?¡±


    Kargas finished his drink and turned to Lattamore. ¡°First of all, please assign one of your deputies to shadow him. And protect him. I want to know where he is at all times ¨C and who he talks to. Then visit Mrs. Wendig and secure access to his room so we can look around. Talk to the postmaster about intercepting all his incoming and outgoing mail. I want to see everything he sends and receives. If he uses the telegraph, I want to see those messages too, so visit the telegraph office and get their cooperation. Finally, I¡¯ll check my contacts to learn what information I can about him. We¡¯ll meet again in a couple weeks. Okay?¡±


    ¡°It could have been worse,¡± opined Juganhouse.


    Kargas replied, ¡°Yes. He looks like a down-on-his-luck officer who drew the short straw. If that is the case, then I do not see the need to do much more than keep an eye on him.¡± Then, in a rare display of humor, he shut one eye, pointed at the other, and added, ¡°So to speak.¡±


    Horace slept in next morning. As he lay in bed, he wondered how long it had been since he spent the night under his own roof. The last eight years had been one dreary mission after another, varying only in their degree of unpleasantness. Worse yet, the war¡¯s end had not stopped the process. Although hundreds of thousands of Rowowan soldiers had returned home to their loved ones, Horace remained on duty, performing more thankless jobs. At least he was on his own this time. Horace did not like authority. He believed that most of his superiors were incompetent people who did not understand their own jobs, let alone his. Indeed, the Rowowan empire seemed full of such petty bureaucrats who were more interested in advancing their own careers than in doing what was right. Heaven, he hoped, was a place without paperwork, redtape, and egos.


    Horace had no intention of wearing his ill-fitting dress uniform again. Instead, he put on his old field jacket, trousers, and boots. He ate breakfast alone in the hotel dining hall, ignoring the stares from the locals while he focused on the newspaper spread out beside his plate. Then he walked over to the Kirkwell Regional Bank and asked to meet the manager. A surprisingly youthful-looking man named Ian Hollander emerged from a back office to greet him. Hollander¡¯s icy politeness failed to hide the obvious distaste he had for a Rowowan official such as Horace. After inviting Horace into his office, Hollander explained that the Rowowan government had that morning telegraphed instructions for his bank to establish both personal and overlordship accounts for him. He did not, however, reveal that he had conveyed this information to Chief Lattamore as well. Horace and Hollander sat in silence for a few minutes while a clerk finalized the necessary paperwork.


    Horace saw a photograph of a group of young men in uniform on Hollander¡¯s desk. ¡°Were you an officer in the war?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Hollander replied.


    Horace tried again. ¡°What did you do?¡±


    Hollander hesitated for a moment before letting his pride overcome his hostility. ¡°At the end of the war I commanded a battalion. In fact, it was the one drawn from this island.¡±


    Horace perked up. ¡°Battalion commander? That¡¯s pretty impressive for such a young guy. How old were you when you got it?¡±If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Hollander thought for a second. ¡°Twenty-seven. No, Twenty-eight. I led it for a year. Actually, by the end of the war, most of us battalion commanders were in our late twenties, so I¡¯m not sure I was that unusual. War is for the young. Or anyhow battalion command is.¡±


    Horace laughed. ¡°I bet that a dozen years ago you never expected to lead seven hundred men into battle.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right about that,¡± Hollander said. ¡°I went from a bank clerk to a lieutenant colonel.¡±


    ¡°When did you get home?¡± Horace asked.


    ¡°Oh, eighteen months ago or so.¡±


    Horace nodded, then squinted, puzzled. ¡°How did you miss out on the Siege of Aurora? Were you wounded?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± responded Hollander. ¡°For some reason the army demobilized the Kirkwell battalion early. Never knew why and I wasn¡¯t about to ask. I was just grateful to get home in one piece.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± said Horace, ¡°I¡¯m glad that the Rowowan army isn¡¯t the only one that acts in incomprehensible and illogical ways.¡±


    The clerk returned with some final papers that Hollander looked over one more time. ¡°It looks like you¡¯re all set up, overlord.¡±


    Horace wondered whether his use of the term was sarcastic, but he let it pass. As he got up to leave, he asked one more question. ¡°Has it been difficult running the bank with everything in such a state of flux?¡±


    Hollander was unsure how much detail to relate. ¡°Yes and no. We¡¯ve been using the old Allerian regulations until we hear differently.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Horace said, ¡°I¡¯m sure a couple Rowowan financial auditors will show up at some point with a new set of onerous rules. Until then, I suppose you¡¯ll have to limp along on penny-ante local accounts until you get the wherewithal to operate regionally.¡±


    Now it was Hollander¡¯s turn to wonder if he had been offended. ¡°Actually, we can still handle accounts and transactions of any size throughout most of the country if necessary.¡±


    Horace smiled. ¡°Really? That¡¯s surprising. Well, I guess if there¡¯s a will, there¡¯s a way. Thank you, Mr. Hollander. You¡¯ve been very helpful.¡±


    After exiting the bank, Horace stood on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, and watched the city¡¯s daily life unfold around him. From there he hustled down the street, ducked into an alley by a hardware store, and waited. A minute later, a panicky deputy scurried by, saw Horace, and suddenly stopped.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Horace asked.


    The flustered officer stammered, ¡°Braxton. Deputy Braxton. Deputy William Braxton.¡±


    Horace looked him up and down. ¡°What exactly are you doing, Deputy William Braxton?¡±


    Braxton hesitated and looked back down the street. ¡°Um¡­I was¡­¡±


    ¡°Did Chief Lattamore assign you to shadow me?¡±


    Braxton blushed. ¡°No, sir. Well, yes. But it¡¯s for your own protection.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± said Horace, ¡°there¡¯s no sense in us playing hide and seek. You may as well come along with me. I could use a guide anyway.¡±


    Braxton considered whether doing so would violate his orders and concluded that Horace¡¯s suggestion was both convenient and practicable.


    ¡°Okay, sir.¡±


    As they walked back to the street, Horace resorted to his usual icebreaker: ¡°What did you do in the war?¡±


    ¡°Sir? Oh, I started as a rifleman, but was transferred to the engineers before my discharge.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± said Horace. ¡°Which way to the library?¡±


    ¡°Library, sir? Down on Front Street. This way.¡±


    They threaded their way through both vehicular and pedestrian traffic until they came to a crosswalk. As they waited, Braxton asked, ¡°What did you do during the war, sir?¡±


    ¡°Supply officer,¡± Horace responded. ¡°I procured luxury goods for fat generals.¡±


    At the library Horace secured a card, perused the stacks, and gathered several classic works of Allerian fiction. As the clerk checked out the books, Horace spotted the head librarian and asked her for a tour. She acquiesced with the gratitude of someone accustomed to being taken for granted. For an hour she showed him the facilities and responded to his rapid-fire questions about resources, budget, personnel, administration, history, and contingencies. By the time they were done, a bored Deputy Braxton knew more about the library that he ever wanted. Horace, on the other hand, seemed genuinely interested in the ins-and-outs of the place.


    That day Horace established the pattern he followed in the ensuing months. Almost every weekday morning he and Deputy Braxton walked to one of the city¡¯s commercial or government establishments and requested a tour, during which Horace peppered the proprietor or supervisor with questions big and small. In addition to the library, Horace and Braxton visited Barrington¡¯s Creamery, Hailey¡¯s Drug Store, the Kirkwell Memorial Hospital, Suzerine¡¯s Dockyard, the Kirkwell school, the Kirkwell Daily News, Consolidated Brick Company, and innumerable other locales. At the school he spent several minutes chatting with Iona, unaware that he was conversing with one of the two most wanted people in the Rowowan empire. Iona found the exchange much more amusing than Kargas when he learned of it. In each instance, Horace exploited the almost universal desire people had to talk about themselves and their work, a vanity that overcame their hostility toward a Rowowan official. After each such inspection he and Braxton ate at the nearest restaurant before he retired to his hotel room for a nap. Upon waking, he spent the remainder of the afternoon in the hotel lounge or patio reading the books he procured from the library, or playing chess with other hotel occupants. Then he took a stroll around the city. He usually ate dinner at the hotel, and then sampled the city¡¯s limited entertainment options by attending a show, lecture, sporting event, or exhibit. Sometimes he stopped by a pub, but he rarely stayed for more than a quick drink and look around. On weekends he toured the remainder of the island, often passing the night at an inn near Scrogwell¡¯s Point, but was back in town on Sunday morning for services at one of the churches. No matter where he went or with whom he spoke, he was invariably polite and inquisitive, but maintained a certain reserve that discouraged questions about himself. He also refrained from flirtation and slept alone. His routine became so predictable that Lattamore limited an overworked Braxton to accompanying him during business hours only. Lattamore figured that he could rely on the locals to report anything Horace did out of the ordinary during his off hours.


    Although Braxton initially found Horace frustratingly enigmatic, he gradually learned that the inscrutable overlord sometimes responded to blunt and interesting questions. Braxton appreciated this not only because it satisfied his natural curiosity, but also because it gave him information to convey to Lattamore. One afternoon at lunch Braxton asked Horace how and why the Rowowan army assigned a supply officer as Kirkwell¡¯s overlord. As usual, Horace quipped that someone had to close up shop once the war ended. Braxton, though, decided to push for a more illuminating response.


    ¡°That¡¯s not really an answer, sir.¡±


    Horace stared at him for a second with his one eye. ¡°Well, I didn¡¯t enter the army until the war was nearly three years old. At the end most of my colleagues had more time in service than me, so the army decided that it was only fair to discharge them first. Also, my commanding officer didn¡¯t like me much, so he sent me to the most remote city he could locate on the map.¡±


    ¡°What did you do to get into trouble?¡± Braxton asked.


    ¡°I told him the truth.¡±


    Because Horace¡¯s tone precluded any follow-up questions on that particular subject, Braxton tried another tack. ¡°It took them three years to draft you? I got my notice the day I turned seventeen.¡±


    Horace rolled his eyes. ¡°Well, let¡¯s just say that Rowowans often forget that bureaucracy and efficiency aren¡¯t the same thing. At any rate, here I am, running out the clock until the Interior Ministry gets its act together and sends a professional overlord to oversee this place.¡±


    ¡°If that¡¯s the case,¡± Braxton asked, ¡°then why not just lounge around in an office all day. Why all the inspections and running around?¡±


    Horace took a bite of his coffee cake. ¡°Well, for one thing, I¡¯m trying to see this posting as an opportunity, not a punishment. I¡¯ve always been fascinated by how things work. Not devices, but rather how people interact in organizations. This assignment gives me the chance to investigate organizations without folks thinking that I¡¯m crazy.¡±


    ¡°I guess that makes sense.¡± Braxton said. ¡°I¡¯m not sure your boss will see it that way, though.¡±


    Horace chuckled, then turned serious. ¡°Do you know what kind of training I got for this job?


    ¡°No, what?¡±


    ¡°The army sent me to Emerald City for a couple weeks to observe its military governor and his staff. Big city, lots of Rowowan bureaucrats. They spent their mornings in city hall in pointless meetings. Or they wrote and read reports that had next to nothing to do with reality and that no one read. And in the afternoons powerful Allerians showed up to try to get their noses in the trough. You could feel Rowowan corruption merging with Allerian corruption. It was depressing. I figure that if I don¡¯t have an office, then no one will come to ask me for favors that I¡¯m not in a position to grant anyway.¡±


    Braxton narrowed his eyes. ¡°That¡¯s a strange way of living your life, overlord.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Horace retorted. ¡°I like to think of it as mitigating my penance.¡±


    ¡°Penance for what?¡±


    ¡°For being thrust into situations not of my own choosing.¡±


    Two weeks after Horace arrived in Kirkwell, Kargas, Mayor Juganhouse, and Chief Lattamore met in Juganhouse¡¯s office to review the information they had acquired about their unwelcome overlord.


    ¡°We¡¯ve looked at his hotel room,¡± said Lattamore. ¡°There¡¯s not much there, except for a few changes of clothes and books. We didn¡¯t even find a gun. As for his mail, he hasn¡¯t received or written any personal letters.¡±


    Juganhouse raised his eyebrows. ¡°Seems like a lonely life.¡±


    Lattamore nodded. ¡°Yes. However, the Rowowan Interior Ministry mailed him a memo demanding detailed information on Kirkwell¡¯s economic potential, demographics, geography, people¡¯s attitudes toward a long list of issues, and so forth. Gathering all that stuff would be a fulltime job. Our overlord, though, just sent back a week''s worth of local newspapers.¡±


    ¡°He does not sound like a man interested in impressing his bosses,¡± said Kargas.


    Juganhouse guffawed. ¡°What¡¯s the story behind his daily inspections?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± said Lattamore, ¡°Deputy Braxton says it¡¯s a weird way of killing time and satisfying his curiosity about societal organizations, or something like that.¡±


    ¡°What about his personal life?¡± queried Kargas.


    Lattamore shrugged. ¡°There¡¯s not much to tell here either. He drinks a little. Doesn¡¯t gamble. No apparent interest in women. Or men. He¡¯s kind of like you, adviser, only uglier and with more of a sense of humor. His main vice appears to be laziness ¨C not doing his job.¡±


    Juganhouse turned to Kargas. ¡°Did your sources reveal anything?¡±


    ¡°One of my contacts knows someone who got a look at a summary of his personnel file. He is apparently a supply officer who got sent here because he quarreled with his commander over something or another.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like you were right,¡± said Juganhouse. ¡°He¡¯s a down-on-his-luck major waiting to go home.¡±


    ¡°True enough,¡± said Kargas. ¡°I do not see any reason to do more than keep an eye on him. He¡¯s not a major threat to our mission as long as we take some simple precautions.¡±


    ¡°Are we done?¡± asked Lattamore as he pushed back his chair.


    ¡°Not quite,¡± replied Kargas. ¡°There is one piece of bad news. Another of my sources stated that there is a Rowowan agent on the island. No word on how long he has been here or what his mission is. Maybe the overlord knows who he is, but probably not. At any rate, keep an ear to the ground for anyone asking questions about misplaced twins.¡±


    From there the three men walked down the hall for the week¡¯s city council meeting. The audience was small as usual, but Horace was again among them, sitting near the back not far from Kargas and Lattamore. As soon as Juganhouse gaveled the session to order, Councilman Walker, belligerent as ever, announced that he had a question for Horace.


    ¡°Major Oxenstera,¡± said Walker, ¡°Can you tell me about General Order 445?¡±


    Kargas groaned inside, certain that Walker planned to waste time posturizing on something anti Rowowan. Walker, thought Kargas, would rather make trouble than progress.


    ¡°No,¡± replied Horace as he stood up. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°General Order 445,¡± intoned Walker, ¡°is a recent Rowowan Interior Ministry order that states that all government officials, including those sitting on councils such as this one, must swear an oath of fealty to the Rowowan empire.¡±


    ¡°Okay¡­,¡± said Horace, uncertain of Walker¡¯s point.


    ¡°I want you to know,¡± pontificated Walker, ¡°that I will never swear an oath to your tyrannical Rowowan empire. You Rowowans have waged an aggressive war against Alleria and committed atrocities against its people unparalleled in human history. What do you plan to do about it?¡±


    All eyes turned to Horace. It was an unmistakable challenge to what little authority he had or had tried to exert over Kirkwell.


    ¡°Do about what? The alleged atrocities?¡± asked Horace.


    Walker looked incredulous. ¡°No. What do you intend to do about my refusal to swear this ridiculous oath?¡±


    Horace thought for a long minute. ¡°Well, it¡¯s not that simple, Councilman Walker. You can¡¯t just say that you won¡¯t swear the oath. As you know, the Rowowan empire is highly-structured, legalistic, and bureaucratic. Your defiance isn¡¯t official until someone in authority notifies the Rowowan Interior Ministry of the fact. I¡¯m the only one on the island with that kind of authority, but there¡¯s no way I¡¯m doing all that paperwork. Now, you could turn yourself in, but to do so you must send a registered and notarized letter-of-intent to the Interior Ministry. A regular letter won¡¯t suffice. The problem is that sending such official letters requires swearing an oath of fealty before a postal official, which would defeat your purpose. I know this isn¡¯t the most logical way to go about things, but it is the Rowowan way.¡± He looked at Mayor Juganhouse as if exchanging information in confidence: ¡°You have no idea how difficult it was to get things done during the war.¡±


    All eyes turned back to Walker. ¡°I won¡¯t swear the oath, major! And I won¡¯t vacate my position on the council either!¡±


    ¡°I understand that,¡± said Horace. ¡°But, again, you haven¡¯t officially not sworn the oath. Until you do so, it¡¯s a moot point.¡±


    After a long silence, Juganhouse ended the standoff by moving on to other business. Even Kargas chuckled at Walker¡¯s obvious confusion and discomfiture.


    Like Kargas, Horace did not take Walker seriously. He had seen enough of Walker¡¯s type in the Rowowan army to recognize the difference between bluster and threat. He was more interested in establishing a relationship with Kirkwell¡¯s dockworkers. They knew as much about what entered and exited the island as any office bureaucrat. Doing so, though, would not be easy. These working class men were fiercely loyal to the crown and unlikely to look kindly upon any Rowowan official. After the city council meeting ended, Horace strode down Broad Street to the Scrapyard Tavern. It was a seedy establishment close to the port that catered to dockworkers. Although he stuck out like a sore thumb, Horace bellied up to the bar and ordered whiskey. After a few minutes, a big burly man in his twenties walked over to him.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you the overlord?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± replied Horace. ¡°That¡¯s me.¡±


    The man looked back to his friends at a nearby table, turned to Horace, and exclaimed, ¡°Fuck Rowowa! And fuck you, too!¡±


    Horace finished his whiskey and replied, ¡°Yeah, well, fuck you.¡±


    Before the burly man could respond, one of his older friends hustled to the bar to restrain him. ¡°What my friend means, overlord, is that we don¡¯t want you in this establishment. We¡¯ve killed plenty of Rowowans, and a lot of us are still willing to do so, war or no war.¡±


    Horace arched his eyebrows. ¡°Now where did you all kill Rowowans?¡±


    The burly man puffed up his chest. ¡°You should have seen them die at the Battle of Okbir River. We gunned them down in the water by the hundreds.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± responded Horace. ¡°I know. I was at Okbir River. But it wasn¡¯t you who killed all those Rowowan soldiers.¡± He pointed to the men at the table. ¡°And certainly none of you assholes.¡±


    As the men at the table got up and surrounded Horace, Horace asked the bartender for the large slate hanging on the wall nearby. He laid the slate on the bar, grabbed a nearby piece of chalk, and rapidly drew a crude map of the Okbir River battlefield. Although he had little trouble marking off the locations of the Rowowan units, he had to ask the men for help in identifying the Allerian ones. After he was done with the map, he explained the Rowowan plan, such as it was, and the various mistakes the Rowowan generals made in implementing it.


    When he had finished his impromptu lecture, he said to the assembled group, ¡°So, as you can see, it wasn¡¯t Allerian valor that won the battle. It was Rowowan stupidity.¡±


    The crowd was silent for a minute. Finally, the older man, one Donald Ollenright, asked, ¡°How the hell do you know all this?¡±


    Horace readjusted his eyepatch. ¡°Well, I was a supply officer during the war. My job was to make sure that the generals got what they wanted or needed ¨C trucks, machine guns, caviar, prostitutes, whatever. I sat in on all the meetings among the generals, wrote down whatever they said they required, and tried to get it. It was better than living in the trenches. I heard them talking about this kind of stuff all the time.¡±


    Another man, this one with a gray beard, scowled. ¡°Maybe your generals fucked up, but it was still us who gunned you sons-of-bitches down.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Horace said, ¡°there¡¯s no doubt about that. The Ladle Archipelago division was one of the best in the Allerian army.¡±


    An indignant murmur went through the group. Ollenright said, ¡°What do you mean, ¡®one of the best.¡¯ We were the best damn division in the army, with the record to prove it.¡±


    Horace beckoned the bartender for a towel to wipe the slate clean. ¡°Okay, the Rowowan army had a system that measured Allerian divisions on a one to five scale, with five being the best. Of course, a division¡¯s battleworthiness varied from time to time and place to place, but you guys usually rated a four to four and a half. Your big problem was that you usually lacked sufficient artillery.¡±


    This led to an animated discussion of the reputations and performances of various Allerian divisions, during which Horace complimented the Ladle Archipelago division and directed everyone¡¯s anger toward the Auroran division because it received a disproportionate share of Allerian resources. After an hour of this, the patrons¡¯ initial angry taunting had mellowed into a gentler back and forth razzing. Horace eventually took advantage of a lull in the conversation to announce he was calling it a night. Before he left, though, he bought a round for everyone still present. Amid that catcalls that followed him out of the bar, he yelled that next time he would prove that the Rowowan rifle was far superior to its pathetic Allerian counterpart.


    Next morning Deputy Braxton chided Horace for visiting the Scrapyard unprotected. Horace grunted and said, ¡°Surely Mayor Juganhouse and Chief Lattamore have issued orders against killing me.¡±

 8. The Murder

    Chapter Eight


    THE MURDER


    The Mermaid was like the Scrapyard one of Kirkwell¡¯s numerous watering holes. Their similarities, though, ended there. Located near the center of town, the Mermaid catered to Kirkwell¡¯s middle and upper classes. During the war, officers on their way to and from the front frequented it and filled the room with talk of casualty lists, promotions, transfers, shortages, and strategy. Although the uniforms had disappeared and the conversation topics changed, many of the same people still occupied the barstools and tables. Discussions now revolved around employment and business opportunities, politics, and relationships. Young women, including a depressing number of widows, flocked there in search of entertainment, company, and husbands. The performers were good and drink prices were reasonable. For Kirkwell¡¯s aspiring youth, the Mermaid was the ideal place to see and be seen.


    Not surprisingly, Roy Czezarchek had never been to the Mermaid. For one thing, he was a teetotaler who was uncomfortable around crowds and strangers. Besides, staying out late was not a luxury he could afford in his line of work. Anna Mullins, on the other hand, frequently patronized the place. When she asked him to accompany her there to meet her friends, he was reluctant to do so. She assured him, however, that he would enjoy himself and she would get him home at a reasonable time. As usual, Roy acquiesced to make her happy. The bar was already crowded when they arrived the next evening, but her friends had secured a table in the corner. After Roy and Anna squeezed into their chairs, Anna introduced everyone. There were six of them, three men and three women. They were so comfortable with each other that Roy could not tell if any of them were couples. They were already well into their drinks, and that, along with the noise and his outsider status, made it difficult for Roy to converse. He instead sat quietly sipping soda while Anna and her friends guzzled beer and exchanged gossip.


    Finally, one of the men, the oldest and meanest looking, leaned toward Roy and asked, ¡°Well, Czezarchek, what did you do in the war?¡±


    To Roy, it sounded more like a challenge than a question. ¡°I was in the merchant marine.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah? What did you do there?¡±


    ¡°Second mate.¡±


    The man strained to hear. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Second mate!¡± Roy shouted. Then, as if an afterthought, he elaborated, ¡°Navigation stuff, mostly.¡±


    The man scowled and narrowed his eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± said Roy.


    ¡°I mean,¡± he said, ¡°I don¡¯t believe you. I don¡¯t know what you did or didn¡¯t do in the war, but I can tell from your demeanor that you were more than a fucking second mate on a merchant ship.¡±


    One of the women intervened before a rattled Roy could respond. ¡°Why don¡¯t you have a drink with us, Roy?¡±


    Roy shifted uncomfortably in his chair and looked at Anna. ¡°No need; I make enough of a fool of myself when I¡¯m sober.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± she asked in a slurred voice. She turned to Anna. ¡°What is wrong with your boyfriend?¡±


    Anna was by then also deep into her cups. ¡°He has no sense of fun,¡± she giggled. ¡°It¡¯s my job to remove that stick up his ass.¡±


    At that point all seven of them began plying Roy with liquor. Roy found the whole scene rather childish and refused. Finally, a frustrated Anna exclaimed, ¡°Well, what do you expect from an Ethosian virgin?¡±


    Roy was a bit puzzled by the accusation¡¯s logic, but concluded that this was hardly the time or place to deconstruct it. By then he had had enough. Looking at his watch, he stated that he had to get up early next morning, thanked them all for the evening, and got out of his chair.


    Anna became angry. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be such a baby. Stay here.¡± She leaned forward to expose a good portion of her breasts. ¡°Don¡¯t you like what you see? Or are you too afraid to take advantage of it?¡±


    An exasperated Roy said, ¡°I better go. I¡¯ll see you tomorrow.¡±


    Anna yelled after him, ¡°What is wrong with you? Come back! If you can¡¯t take care of me, I¡¯m sure I can find someone here who will!¡±


    Roy kept walking amid the jeering of the bar¡¯s patrons. As he exited the bar, he ran right into a newly-arrived Rael. The two men exchanged odd, startled looks before going their separate ways.


    Roy did not go straight to bed when he got home. Instead, he sat at his kitchen table and thought about his life. He believed that God had placed him on the planet for some reason, but, looking at his past and present, he had a hard time figuring out what it was. Moreover, it occurred to him that he might never know ¨C at least not in this world. Although he was sure that leaving the bar was the right thing, that did not seem to carry much weight in the here and now. He yawned and closed his eyes. Two hours later, a dog¡¯s bark jolted him awake. Looking out his window down the street, he noticed that Anna¡¯s bedroom light was on. He walked out on the porch and contemplated going over to make amends. Suddenly, he saw her standing at the window, topless, her breasts almost glowing in the moonlight. She gave him a long look, smiled, and slowly pulled the curtains closed. As she did so, Roy saw a man¡¯s silhouette settle in behind her and place his hands on her hips as she leaned forward. Roy sighed, turned, and went inside to bed. Despite a wave of jealousy that swept over him, he took comfort in the certitude that her actions provided about the future of their relationship. He preferred painful and clear to bland ambiguity. When he arose several hours later and left for work, he noticed that Anna¡¯s house was dark and still.


    Kargas occasionally passed his time in Chief Lattamore¡¯s office in Kirkwell¡¯s somewhat dilapidated police station. From there he could easily monitor, sift, and analyze whatever intelligence the city¡¯s policemen accumulated in the course of their duties. He kept his visits infrequent so they did not attract attention. As far as he could tell, his plan to safeguard the royal twins was going as well as could be expected. Iona was gainfully employed, unattached to anyone, and more content than he had ever seen her. As for Rael, Kargas worried that he would reveal his royal identity in the course of his constant partying and womanizing. However, he had not yet done so, and in fact appeared to enjoy living incognito as a rogue about town. Thanks to Fitzgerald Hollander¡¯s cooperation at the Kirkwell Regional Bank, Kargas had sufficient monies to fund the mission for the foreseeable future. Kargas had also recently finished contingency plans for escaping Kirkwell if it became necessary to do so. Although the Rowowans had finally established a presence on the island, their one-eyed overlord seemed innocuous. Kargas was also encouraged by the unrest and paralysis in the Rowowan empire. The only fly in the ointment were continuing reports of a Rowowan spy on the island. Lattamore¡¯s investigations, though, had turned up nothing, leading Kargas to conclude that if such a spy existed, he was currently dormant. For now, the royal twins were safe.


    Lattamore arrived while Kargas was reading reports and mentally balancing his ledger. After exchanging pleasantries, Lattamore begged off going to lunch because he had just received word of a murder on the northeast side of town.


    Kargas shuffled his papers. ¡°Murder in Kirkwell? That¡¯s rare. Anyone we know?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t think so,¡± responded Lattamore. ¡°Gal in her twenties was apparently killed in her bedroom. A friend found the body and reported it.¡±


    Kargas looked up. ¡°Details?¡±


    ¡°Well, it looks like she was strangled to death after a sexual assault.¡±


    Kargas eyes got big. ¡°Are you going over there now?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Do you mind if I come along?¡±


    Lattamore shrugged. ¡°No, I guess not. Why?¡±


    ¡°Because we know a young woman. If someone is killing them, we need to find him as soon as possible.¡±


    The two men drove in Lattamore¡¯s police car over to Anna¡¯s house. Upon entering, they saw Anna¡¯s friend sitting on a sofa, crying. The chief detective, Rodney Llewellen, beckoned them upstairs into Anna¡¯s bedroom. There Anna lay on her back on her bed, naked, with her arms and legs stretched out above and below her torso. Her arms were tied together with twine.


    Llewellen waited a couple seconds for them to take in the scene. ¡°Her name is Anna Mullins. She lives here alone. Works at the cannery. Her friend downstairs came over to check on her when she didn¡¯t show up for work and found her. She didn¡¯t touch the body.¡±Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Llewellen lowered his voice. ¡°There¡¯s semen in her vagina and bruises on her throat, but no other visible marks. Notice the curious posing of her body.¡±


    Kargas whistled. ¡°Any suspects?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Llewellen responded. ¡°Her friend said that she had an altercation with her boyfriend last night at the Mermaid. Boyfriend walked out on her. But he apparently lives caddy corner up the road.¡± He pointed out the window. ¡°Right over there.¡±


    Lattamore looked out the window. ¡°What¡¯s his alibi?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know. He¡¯s not home, but we¡¯re looking for him.¡±


    Lattamore grunted. ¡°Keep me informed.¡±


    After Lattamore and Kargas exited the house, they saw a man walk down the street and enter his house. Oddly enough, he did not seem to notice the commotion fifty yards away.


    Lattamore turned to Kargas. ¡°That must be him. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    Indeed, Roy had not seen the hubbub down the street because he was so engrossed in his own misery. He felt foolish for falling for such an unsuitable woman. He was no longer a kid, so he should have known better. He was so depressed that he closed his bookstore early and returned home. He had just put a kettle on the stove when he heard a knock on his door. He groaned inside because he figured it could only be Anna, and he was not ready for that conversation.


    It was not Anna, but rather Lattamore and Kargas. Before Lattamore could introduce them, Roy gasped, ¡°Adviser Kargas.¡±


    It took a moment for Kargas to recognize him, but then he stated, ¡°Royo di Czezarchek. I thought you were dead.¡±


    Lattamore looked back and forth at each one, cleared his throat, and said, ¡°Mr. di Czezarchek, is it? Do you mind if we come in.¡±


    Roy did not respond for a long second, but he finally opened the door and led them to the kitchen table.


    After they all sat down, Lattamore asked, ¡°Do you two know each other?¡±


    Roy looked at Kargas, who responded, ¡°Yes, Mr. di Czezarchek was a student at the royal academy when I served as assistant adviser to the royal family.¡±


    Lattamore sensed the tension between the two men, but ignored it and turned to the matter at hand. ¡°Mr. di Czezarchek, do you know Anna Mullins?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± said Roy, still staring at Kargas. ¡°We¡¯ve been seeing each other. What¡¯s this all about?¡±


    Lattamore had informed people before about the death of loved ones. He knew from experience that the direct approach was best. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to tell you that she died.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, what?¡± asked Roy, turning to Lattamore.


    ¡°Yes,¡± said Lattamore. ¡°She was raped and strangled in her bedroom.¡±


    Roy was quiet for almost a minute, absorbing the shock of the news while Kargas and Lattamore watched his reaction. Suddenly he looked at Kargas and exclaimed, ¡°You son of a bitch! That¡¯s why you¡¯re here. They¡¯re here, aren¡¯t they? He did it again! I warned you ten years ago, and you didn¡¯t listen to me! Now he¡¯s done it again! You son of a bitch!¡±


    Lattamore interrupted. ¡°Calm down, Mr. di Czezarchek.¡±


    Roy renewed his rant. ¡°I warned you and you didn¡¯t believe me! Now he did it again!¡±


    Lattamore cut him short. ¡°Look, I don¡¯t know what happened in the past or what you¡¯re talking about. For now, though, all I want to know is where you were last night.¡±


    Roy continued to glare at Kargas, but he answered Lattamore, ¡°We got into an argument at a bar last night. I left early, walked home, and fell asleep here. When I woke up it was the middle of the night. I looked out the window and saw her standing at her window. There was a man with her, but I didn¡¯t see his face. But now that Adviser Kargas is here, I can guess whose it was.¡±


    Kargas abruptly stood up, ¡°That¡¯s all we need for now, Mr. di Czezarchek. Thank you for your time.¡±


    As they walked to the door, Lattamore said to Roy, ¡°Mr. di Czezarchek, please keep the details of this investigation to yourself.¡±


    As soon as they got into his car, Lattamore asked, ¡°What was that all about?¡±


    Kargas bit his lip, unsure of the amount of detail to provide. ¡°Royo di Czezarchek is the son of an important Ethosian bigwig. He got a scholarship to attend the royal academy when he was thirteen or fourteen. Smart kid, but high-strung, mopey, and immature. A few months before the war began, a servant girl named Brenda Furthermore was murdered on palace grounds. Mr. di Czezarchek claimed that Rael did it because he saw Rael in the vicinity when the murder occurred. We investigated his charge and found no evidence to support it. In fact, we uncovered evidence that Mr. di Czezarchek might have done it, but not enough to prosecute him.¡±


    ¡°Then what happened?¡± asked Lattamore.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± responded Kargas. ¡°We never solved the case. The war began and everyone forgot about the murder, except obviously for Mr. di Czezarchek. He enlisted in the army. I thought he was killed at the Siege of Lollister. I wonder how he ended up here?¡±


    ¡°How did the servant girl die?¡±


    Kargas sighed. ¡°Raped, strangled, and posed, just like our current victim.¡±


    Lattamore groaned. ¡°Great.¡±


    Kargas nodded. ¡°Well, let¡¯s not get ahead of ourselves. Follow what leads you have and see where they go until I tell you otherwise. We¡¯ll work from there.¡±


    Lattamore turned to Kargas. ¡°How do you know di Czezarchek won¡¯t spill the beans about the royal twins? He obviously hates you and Rael.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m betting he won¡¯t,¡± replied Kargas. ¡°He carried a torch for the princess for the longest time. I can¡¯t imagine he would do anything to hurt her.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been ten years, though,¡± said Lattamore. ¡°People change.¡±


    ¡°It was a big torch. Keep an eye on him though.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± replied Lattamore. ¡°But we¡¯re stretched thin. It will be tough for my cops to do their regular jobs, investigate this murder, hunt down the rumored Rowowan spy, watch Mr. di Czezarchek, and ride herd over the overlord.¡±


    ¡°Well, do the best you can,¡± said Kargas. ¡°You¡¯re used to doing much with little anyway. In the meanwhile, I¡¯ll try to think of a solution to this particular problem.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± said Lattamore.


    Kargas suddenly asked, ¡°Speaking of which, where is our one-eyed overlord today?¡±


    Lattamore laughed. ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll never guess.¡±


    Horace stood on the beach in front of a crowd of approximately twenty dockworkers and held a rifle up over his head. ¡°This is a model three Longshot rifle, the standard issue rifle of the Rowowan army,¡± he bellowed. ¡°It is a five round, magazine fed, bolt action repeating rifle. It weighs nine pounds, is forty-four inches long, and has an effective range of three hundred yards. It is the best rifle in the world, and is far superior to your pathetic Allerian Prince Bart.¡±


    Although the crowd responded with profanity and catcalls, Horace continued. ¡°Not only do I believe that the Longshot rifle is better than the Prince Bart, but I¡¯m also prepared to prove it here and now. Mr. Ollenright and I have set up this crude range, and I bet that I can place more rounds within the target with my Longshot than any of you assholes using the Prince Bart. Even with only one eye.¡±


    Ollenright walked over to Horace. ¡°That¡¯s a bold statement, overlord. A bold and foolish statement from a man who wants to lose a great deal of money. I¡¯ll tell you what, not only will each of us bet you twenty of your imperial crowns apiece, but we¡¯ll even let you choose which of us you want to compete with.¡±


    Horace was surprised. ¡°Twenty crowns apiece is a lot of money.¡±


    Ollenright smiled. ¡°Not for a man who has the world¡¯s greatest rifle at his disposal.¡±


    Horace mulled it over for a moment. ¡°Okay,¡± he exclaimed. ¡°You¡¯re on.¡± He scanned the crowd. ¡°And I pick Mr. Nunn over there. He looks like he can barely lift the rifle, let alone shoot it.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you, overlord!¡± Nunn shouted.


    Horace led the group to a makeshift firing point. After looking around to make sure everyone was behind the firing line, he reached for the Longshot rifle, loaded it, and carefully aimed at the target one hundred yards downrange. After squeezing off one magazine, he loaded another, aimed, and fired five more times.


    Lloyd Boris jogged to the target and announced that Horace hit it three times.


    Horace looked at the crowd. ¡°Not bad for a one-eyed supply officer.¡±


    Billy Nunn was a sallow boy of eighteen, but he had spent a year in the infantry at the tail end of the war. As the men cheered him on, he sauntered over to the firing point, picked up the Prince Bart rifle, and carefully examined it. Once he was satisfied, he quickly loaded it, took aim, and fired five rounds. With scarcely a pause, he reloaded, aimed, and fired it again.


    Lloyd Boris again hustled downrange, examined the target, and hollered back, ¡°Six!¡±


    ¡°Son of a bitch!¡± Horace exclaimed.


    After the men finished hooting and hollering, they gathered around Horace. ¡°Overlord,¡± said Ollenright, ¡°You owe us¡­four hundred imperial crowns total. And we want them now.¡±


    Horace groaned. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t have that much money on me now. You all will have to wait until the bank opens on Monday.¡± He paused and looked around. ¡°I¡¯m good for it. I¡¯m Rowowan.¡±


    The crowd renewed their catcalling. Ollenright said, ¡°We don¡¯t like people who welch on their bets, overlord.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not welching. You¡¯ll just have to wait until Monday.¡± He threw up his arms. ¡°If I buy the first round at the Scrapyard with the money I do have, will that do the trick?¡±


    The men cheered and headed off the beach. As they walked along, Ollenright fell in alongside Horace.


    ¡°Overlord,¡± said Ollenright. ¡°Do you know why you lost that bet, even with the best rifle in the world?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± replied Horace. ¡°Tell me.¡±


    Ollenright chortled. ¡°When did you first fire your Longshot rifle?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Basic training, I guess.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± continued Ollenright. ¡°When do you think little Billy Nunn first fired his?¡±


    Horace shrugged.


    ¡°Like everyone else, he was shooting as soon as he could walk. That¡¯s why he beat you with his antiquated Prince Bart.¡±


    At that point Horace saw Deputy Braxton trotting across the sand toward him. ¡°Deputy Braxton!¡± Ollenright yelled. ¡°You missed all the excitement.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± said one man. ¡°The overlord just lost four hundred imperial crowns to us. Turns out that Lloyd can shoot better with his Prince Bart than the overlord can with his ¡®far superior¡¯ Longshot.¡±


    Deputy Braxton laughed. ¡°Don¡¯t you know that target shooting is a regional sport in the Ladle Archipelago? We have a target range in the school. My God, overlord, we saw it when we toured the school a few weeks back. And there was a picture of Lloyd next to his trophy.¡±


    Horace chuckled. ¡°I wish you had been here an hour ago to remind me of all this. Where have you been?¡±


    Braxton turned serious. ¡°A young woman was murdered last night.¡±


    Horace turned his head sharply. All the men stopped walking and talking. ¡°Who?¡± asked Ollenright.


    ¡°Anna Mullins.¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡± Ollenright inquired.


    ¡°Raped and murdered in her bed.¡±


    ¡°Any suspects?¡± asked Horace.


    ¡°Well, she had a boyfriend. Roy something. Czezarchek, I think.¡±


    ¡°Royo di Czezarchek?¡± Horace asked.


    ¡°No, Roy Czezarchek,¡± Braxton corrected.


    Lloyd Boris spoke up. ¡°Oh, yeah. He¡¯s that Ethosian guy who washed ashore a couple years ago after that Rowowan submarine torpedoed his merchant ship. Paul Levitan took him in until he died. Czezarchek owns that bookstore by that bakery.¡±


    As they started walking again, Horace asked Braxton, ¡°How did she die?¡±


    ¡°Raped and murdered.¡±


    ¡°I mean, how was she murdered, Braxton?¡±


    ¡°Strangled to death.¡±


    Horace raised his eyebrows. ¡°Did she look like an exclamation point?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Horace stood on his tiptoes and raised his arms over his head.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Braxton. ¡°How did you know?¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± replied Horace, ¡°I read somewhere that that¡¯s how bodies often look after strangulation.¡±


    Murder was rare in Kirkwell, and the murder of a young woman even more so. The news put a somewhat downbeat coda on the day¡¯s events. Horace in particular was not as ebullient as usual with the dockworkers, though everyone assumed he was depressed at the loss of so much money. In fact, he left the bar after twenty minutes.

 9. The Investigation

    Chapter Nine


    THE INVESTIGATION


    Chief Lattamore dropped Kargas off at his beach house after they visited Roy. Kargas made himself some tea, retreated to his study, and tried to sort out the unwelcome complication Anna Mullins¡¯ homicide represented. If Anna Mullins¡¯ murder was related to Brenda Furthermore¡¯s, then either Rael or Royo was likely a killer. Actually, it was trickier than that because Rael and Royo were not the only people around for both slayings; so were Iona and Frederick. Indeed, now that Kargas thought about it, Juganhouse was working at the palace at the time of Brenda Furthermore¡¯s death. On the other hand, it was equally possible that the deaths had nothing to do with each other. There was certainly nothing novel about either strangulation as a means of killing or of using twine to hold limbs together. However, even if the murders were unrelated, Royo certainly believed otherwise. As long as he did so, it was impossible to separate Anna Mullins from the royal twins.


    The more Kargas thought about it, the more he realized that he was focusing on the wrong thing. After all, his job was to protect the royal twins, not solve Anna Mullins¡¯ or Brenda Furthermore¡¯s homicides. Despite the affection for Iona Kargas assumed Royo still possessed, he might reveal the royal twins¡¯ whereabouts. He might do so as blackmail if Lattamore arrested him for Anna Mullins¡¯ murder or as revenge if Lattamore did not arrest Rael for Anna Mullins¡¯ murder. Either action would threaten the royal twins¡¯ with exposure. The obvious solution was get Royo out of the way. The question was how. Killing him was one possibility, albeit a risky one. Kargas had authorized assassinations during the war, but eventually questioned their effectiveness. The fact was that covertly slaying someone was not easy. Royo was young and fit, and therefore likely to fight back. There might be witnesses, and someone almost always talked. Persuading or pressuring Royo to leave Kirkwell voluntarily, on the other hand, was a more viable option. Once he was gone, Lattamore could label him the prime suspect for Anna Mullins¡¯ death and close down the investigation. This would dissipate any speculation that someone else, such as Rael, had committed the crime and remove from the scene the only unauthorized person aware of the twins¡¯ presence.


    As he sipped his tea, Kargas pondered various ways to hustle Royo out of town and keep him quiet. He knew it would not be easy. He remembered Royo rather well because he and Iona had had such a close, though not sexual, relationship until she broke his heart by falling for Frederick. He was moody and high-strung, but with a wry and quiet sense of humor that appealed to the old king. The problem was that he was also extraordinarily sanctimonious. He had been so convinced that Rael had murdered Brenda Furthermore and that the palace had covered it up that he threatened to go to the press. Kargas strung him along with various vague promises until Royo enlisted in the army and disappeared into the war¡¯s maw. Kargas doubted that he could so easily manipulate him this time. In fact, he was liable to become more obdurate and dangerous if he or Lattamore attempted to pressure him to do anything. On the other hand, Iona had known him better than anyone. Despite their falling out, Kargas concluded that only she could exert the right amount of persuasion and pressure to get him to leave the island voluntarily and ensure that he did not reveal his knowledge of the twins¡¯ presence.


    Kargas met Lattamore for dinner to discuss the case. Lattamore confirmed that Rael had indeed been at the Mermaid that evening, but no one saw him with Anna Mullins. Lattamore also agreed with Kargas that the best solution was for Iona to persuade Royo to leave town with his secret as soon as possible. After returning to the beach house, Kargas walked to Iona¡¯s suite and knocked on the door. She opened it and greeted him warmly. Steady work, thought Kargas, had certainly mellowed her brittle disposition. They exchanged pleasantries for several minutes before Kargas got down to business.


    ¡°Your highness, have you heard about the murder of a young woman that occurred last night?¡± he asked.


    Iona nodded. ¡°Of course. Everyone has.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± continued Kargas. ¡°Ordinarily it would be a police problem that has nothing to do with us, but not now.¡±


    Iona¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°I don¡¯t understand. What does it have to do with Rael or myself?¡±


    Kargas opted for the direct approach. ¡°Well, the obvious suspect is the man she was seeing. He lives right near her house. When Mr. Lattamore and I walked over to interview him, we discovered that it was Royo di Czezarchek.¡±


    Iona looked at Kargas for a long moment, trying to absorb the information. ¡°Royo? You mean my Royo?¡±


    Kargas could not but help notice her use of the possessive, even after all these years. ¡°Yes, Royo di Czezarchek.¡±


    Iona shook her head emphatically. ¡°That can¡¯t be. Royo has been dead for years. He died at the Siege of Lollister.¡±


    Kargas shrugged. ¡°Apparently not. He is alive and well.¡±


    Iona¡¯s temper rose. ¡°What the hell is Royo di Czezarchek doing on Kirkwell Island?¡±


    ¡°According to Mayor Juganhouse, a couple years ago a Rowowan submarine torpedoed the merchant ship on which he was serving right offshore. He survived and decided to put down roots here. He owns a bookstore on the way to the docks.¡±


    ¡°What was he doing¡­how did he go from the Siege of Lollister to the merchant marine?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Kargas watched Iona closely. She was clearly working hard to keep her emotions under control, an undertaking still new to her. Kargas renewed the conversation before she lost the ability to think logically.


    ¡°Here is the problem, your highness. He recognized me immediately when Mr. Lattamore and I visited him, and guessed accurately why I am on the island. He not only denied murdering the girl, but accused Rael of the crime.¡±


    ¡°Not again!¡± Iona exclaimed.


    ¡°Yes, again. So you can understand the difficulty. For any of a number of reasons he might publicize your presence here. And Rael¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± responded Iona. ¡°What do you expect me to do about this mess?¡±


    Kargas ignored the implied rebuke. ¡°I want you to persuade him to leave town and keep his mouth shut.¡±


    ¡°How am I supposed to do that?¡±


    Kargas leaned forward. ¡°I will leave that up to you. You can sweet talk him by appealing to his patriotism and your friendship. Or you can strong arm him by telling him that if he does not leave town, we might arrest, try, convict, and execute him for Anna Mullins¡¯ murder. Again, it is up to you because you understand him better than any of us and know which levers to pull.¡±


    Iona grabbed the opportunity to be useful. ¡°Okay,¡± said Iona. ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡±


    Kargas wanted to make sure that she understood the gravity of the situation. ¡°Your highness, this is the most important assignment you have ever had as royalty. Please think everything through carefully.¡±


    ¡°One question,¡± said Iona. ¡°How am I supposed to contact him? Do you want me to go to his house?¡±


    Kargas shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, good question. According to Mr. Lattamore¡¯s information, Royo faithfully attends the Apostolic Church on Foile Street. After the service he always buys a croissant from a nearby bakery and walks up to Anchor Hill Park to eat it on a bench overlooking the harbor. It is out in the open. There will be people about, but you can speak privately. Why don¡¯t you meet him there tomorrow?¡±


    Iona passed the night tossing and turning. She had met Royo at the royal academy when they were fourteen years old. Because he was Ethosian and different, Rael and some of the other children picked on him. He responded to the barbs with as much dignity as someone his age could muster. One afternoon, though, he suddenly and without provocation punched Rael in the mouth. Striking a prince was of course a serious crime, but the king not only insisted that the headmaster refrain from interfering, but he also summoned Royo to the palace for tea. This stopped the bullying, but not the sullen resentment Royo and Rael continued to feel toward each other. As for Iona, she expressed her support for Royo by inviting him on a boat ride in the lake on palace grounds. This became a regular event for them. So did stargazing with a telescope that they set up on a small hill. She enjoyed his company and looked forward to their conversations. He treated her with a light deference, but also gently teased her about her pretentions. He had a knack for drawing out her deepest secrets and concerns with one probing question after another, and listened respectfully to her litany of woes and innumerable theories. To be sure, his self-righteousness, indecisiveness, and self-pity irked her, but it was a small price to pay for such a discreet, safe, and trusted confidante.


    Iona knew from the start that Royo wanted more than friendship from her. The problem was that she did not reciprocate his feelings. For all his intelligence and astuteness, Royo was still a boy, with a boy¡¯s awkwardness and lack of confidence. She cared about him deeply, though, and did not want anything to ruin their relationship. Whenever he hinted at his true feelings, she ignored him, played dumb, or asserted in a roundabout way that she was not ready for anything serious. It worked until Frederick expressed an interest in her. Unlike Royo, Frederick was a man ¨C or anyhow an adolescent girl¡¯s conception of a man. More importantly, he possessed a sexuality and an easy self-assuredness that she found irresistible. She tried to hide her liaisons with Frederick from Royo, but he eventually found out and was deeply hurt. By then Iona was too smitten to care much one way or another. As a result, they drifted apart, but not before a bitter Royo warned her that nothing good would come of her romance with Frederick. That he was right just stoked her anger toward him, as did his unwillingness to talk with her when she learned that Frederick was straying. Brenda Furthermore¡¯s murder was the final straw. When Royo insisted that Rael was involved, Iona told everyone that his accusations were an effort to attract her attention. By the time they graduated they were no longer on speaking terms. He was, in fact, the class pariah.


    Like all the other boys in his class, Royo enlisted when the war came. Doing so seemed out of character because he was more likely to buck rather than follow trends. He kept his reasons to himself, though, and refrained from participating in the innumerable patriotic activities in those early, heady days of the conflict. Iona was there say goodbye when the boys entrained for officers training camp in Emerald City. Unlike everyone else, Royo had no family to see him off. He stood rather morosely and alone on the platform amid all the teary farewells. This greatly saddened Iona. She walked over to him in front of everyone, hugged him, and whispered in his ear, ¡°Write to me.¡± But he never did. Not a single line. Although some of her correspondents alluded to him in their letters to her, they provided little additional information. Even these passing references ended when the men finished their training and joined their units. By then Iona was so wrapped up in her own life that she hardly noticed. A couple years later an old friend visiting Iona at the palace casually mentioned that Royo¡¯s name had just appeared on the list of missing and presumed dead. During the course of the war, Iona learned of the deaths of dozens of schoolmates and acquaintances, but Royo¡¯s was the one that hurt the most. She realized that the reason for her sorrow was that, unlike all the men who came later, he had possessed that rarest of things: purity of heart.


    Royo also had a tough time falling asleep that night. It was not so much Anna Mullins¡¯s murder and speculation that he committed the crime that bothered him ¨C he knew he was innocent and was relieved to put that relationship behind him ¨C but rather the knowledge that Iona was nearby. Until that day, he had not thought of her in a long time. Kargas¡¯s visit, though, resurrected memories that he had difficulty processing. He had been a lonely and scared boy when he arrived at the royal academy. He had not wanted to go, but his parents insisted that it was an opportunity too good to pass up. As things turned out, his fears were justified because the other kids did not treat him well. He punched Rael in the hope that the headmaster would expel him so he could return home. Instead, it netted him a pleasant meeting with the king and a boat ride with Iona. Although he had noticed Iona his first day at the royal academy, he had been too shy to talk to her. He thought she was beautiful and in the following years memorized her features. He was especially struck by the blonde locks that fell over her temples when she wore her hair back and the peculiarly seductive sway of her hips. He also found her entertaining. He enjoyed listening to her problems and poking fun at her pretentiousness. He was not unaware of her shortcomings, but chalked up her selfishness and shallowness to her royalty. He pined for her for years, but lacked the moral courage to express his love. Deep down he knew that she did not reciprocate his feelings, so he preferred to cling to false hope than deal with the unhappy reality.


    Considering his age, temperament, and mindset at the time, it was unsurprising that Royo was emotionally devastated when he discovered that Iona was seeing Frederick. He had small use for Frederick anyway because he believed that there was rather less to him than initially met the eye. Royo was also insulted that Iona wanted to continue their relationship as if nothing had changed. Royo, though, could not bear the thought of sharing Iona with someone else, especially someone as superficial as Frederick. As a result, he deliberately avoided her. When Iona¡¯s romance with Frederick disintegrated, she reached out to him for comfort, but he refused the overture. During one short and awkward exchange, he told her that it was impossible to turn the clock back and that he felt that she had taken unfair advantage of his friendship.


    By then he was so bitter that he could not wait to escape the royal academy. At that point he met Brenda Furthermore at a diner. Although they had only a few conversations, she expressed an interest in him in a way Iona never did. She also complained about Rael¡¯s creepy and unwanted advances. He saw Rael enter the servants¡¯ quarters the day Brenda was murdered and told the police as much, but its officers seemed more interested in safeguarding the royal family¡¯s reputation than in solving the crime. Royo complained long and loud that no one was taking the murder seriously until an irritated Kargas visited him. Kargas listened to his concerns and promised to bring them to the attention of the proper authorities. He also warned Royo that his ¡°reckless¡± accusations could hurt the royal family and his own family back in Ethosia. Royo kept his mouth shut, but grew increasingly bitter and disillusioned when the investigation petered out without explanation, subsumed by talk of conflict with Rowowa. Royo enlisted not so much out of patriotism as out of a desire to begin a new life for himself. This fresh start included severing all ties with his classmates, which was why he never took Iona up on her offer to correspond.


    The next morning Royo walked to church as usual. He had not been a Christian when he was younger. In fact, he and Iona often ridiculed believers as backwards and ignorant people. It was Iona, though, who put him on the road to faith. One afternoon, while drinking milkshakes at a gazebo in the royal gardens, Iona despaired that there was no point to life because everyone eventually died. That being the case, why bother doing good? Royo found her nihilism disconcerting, but it opened his mind to alternatives. It was the war that brought him to the Lord. Its cruelties, dangers, and seeming pointlessness tended to turn soldiers into either believers or atheists. Royo took the former route. He treasured those little instances of humanity as manifestations of God¡¯s grace. He gradually realized that faith, like love, was not an uncontrollable and unpredictable emotional state, but rather a decision ¨C an act of will. It convinced him that his life was not hopeless, that his God had a plan for him. That knowledge made the war years bearable, and continued to succor him later. He took great comfort in attending church and used it as an occasion to push his problems out of his mind.


    After the church service concluded, Royo bought a croissant at a nearby bakery and walked up Anchor Hill to eat it while sitting on a bench and watching the ocean. Before the war he had never thought much about the water, let alone spending several years on it. It turned out he enjoyed his time in the merchant marine. Unlike the royal academy, everyone was united in a common purpose ¨C to keep the ship afloat and deliver it cargo. The sea was also so much cleaner than muddy battlefields strewn with bodies. Finally, he got the opportunity to visit ports throughout Alleria and the neutral countries. He had told himself that he would remain in the merchant marine until God made it abundantly clear that He wanted him elsewhere. He figured that having his ship blown out from under him was about as definitive a sign as God could deliver.


    As he munched on his croissant and contemplated the sea¡¯s ominous simplicity, Royo suddenly caught sight of a woman dressed in white at the bottom of the hill walking up the sidewalk toward him. Although he had not seen her in a decade, he recognized her immediately as Iona because of her long blonde hair and seductive gait. He suspected that Kargas had sent her to see him for some nefarious purpose. Even so, he could not help but admire her beauty as she approached. When her face came into focus, he was somewhat saddened by its grimness. The war, he remembered, took its toll on everyone.


    Iona had prepared carefully for the encounter. She was driven by both her determination to impress Kargas with her commitment to her duty and her fury toward Royo. She was angry with Royo not so much for surviving the war, but for failing to inform her of that fact. As she saw it, intimidating him with her personality and status provided the best means for hustling him off the island without divulging the secret he had pieced together. This strategy had usually worked when they were young and she wanted something from him, so she gambled that it would be equally successful now. As part of the plan, she dressed like the princess she was: long white gown, blonde hair that cascaded down her back, gold earrings, thick book in her hands, and an ornate necklace to draw the eye to her sedate cleavage. All she lacked was a crown. She waited at city hall until the church service ended before walking deliberately to the park over a little-used causeway. She felt a bit like an avenging angel as she glided up the sidewalk toward him. When he came into view, though, she noticed that he was no longer a morose and sallow boy. His face and chest had filled out, and his eyes were those of a war-weary man enjoying a brief respite from the world¡¯s travails. He appeared much more formidable than she expected.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Royo looked up her, shielding his eyes with one hand to ward off the sun. ¡°Hello, princess.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that,¡± Iona snapped.


    As his eyes adjusted to the sun¡¯s glare, Royo noticed Iona tapping the book she was holding with her index finger. He remembered that she did that whenever she was anxious. Moreover, he knew that she postured when she was nervous. He leaned back on the bench and waited expectantly for the performance he knew would follow.


    When Royo failed to respond to her, Iona made her pitch. ¡°We want you to leave the island at once and promise to reveal to no one that Rael and I are here.¡±


    Royo was surprised by her directness. He figured she would at least go through the motions of small talk and catching up. He decided that he may as well skip the usual pleasantries as well. ¡°Why would I do that?¡±


    ¡°Because I¡¯m asking you to. And if you don¡¯t, you will be arrested, tried, convicted, and executed for Anna Mullins¡¯ murder.¡±


    Royo sneered. ¡°First of all, we all know I didn¡¯t kill her. If Kargas thought I did, he would never have sent you here. Secondly, if you arrest and try me, I will tell everyone, including our Rowowan overlord, that you and Rael are here. Finally, and most importantly, if I do as you ask, then your brother gets away with killing another girl, and will be free to do so again. Someone has to stop him.¡±


    Iona threw up her arms in frustration. ¡°Rael never killed anyone and you know it.¡±


    Now it was Royo¡¯s turn to become exasperated. ¡°How do you explain two almost identical murders?¡±


    Iona changed tack. ¡°You¡¯re being selfish. Maybe you should care more about your people than about settling scores a decade old.¡±


    Royo glared at her. ¡°I¡¯m being selfish? You care more about your position than about the well-being of your subjects.¡±


    Iona lowered her voice and leaned forward. ¡°You claim to act out of altruism, but we both know that¡¯s not the case. This isn¡¯t about Brenda Furthermore or Anna Mullins. Or about Rael. This is about you and me. I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t reciprocate your feelings for me, I¡¯m sorry I fell for Frederick, and I¡¯m sorry you got hurt. But this is no reason to jeopardize the future of this kingdom. Why don¡¯t you try putting someone other than yourself first for a change?¡±


    Royo looked sharply at her. ¡°What the hell year do you think this is? You might be ten years older, but you¡¯re still acting like a self-centered and spoiled child. The world doesn¡¯t revolve around you. After all I¡¯ve been through, you¡¯re the last thing on my mind. You think I¡¯m selfish? That¡¯s rich.¡±


    Iona had had enough. ¡°Are you going to do as I ask or not?¡±


    Royo shook his head. ¡°You tell your adviser to fuck off. My goal is to see your brother pay for his crimes, one way or another.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not only selfish, but a traitor as well. You don¡¯t care that Alleria sacrificed everything for Ethosia.¡±


    As Iona turned to storm away, Royo called after her, ¡°Rachel and Tabatha!¡±


    Iona looked back. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Rachel and Tabatha. They were my wife and daughter. They died in the war. So don¡¯t tell me I¡¯m selfish and haven¡¯t sacrificed enough.¡±


    Iona stood still for a moment, trying to think of an appropriate response, but finally gave up and stomped down the hill.


    Iona may have failed to intimidate Royo into leaving the island, but she did prompt him to take action. As soon as he returned home, he wrote a letter stating that Rael and Iona were on Kirkwell and sealed it in an envelope. He was unsure whether the address he had was still valid or whether it would elicit a response. Even so, he saw it as his covert insurance policy. The next day he asked the man who owned the bakery next to his bookstore to pop it into his outgoing mail if he did not come by to retrieve it within a week.


    Iona tried to put the best face on her meeting when she reported back to Kargas, but she knew that she had failed. For this she blamed Royo¡¯s intransigence. If Kargas was disappointed with her, he did not say so. Instead, he summoned Juganhouse and Lattamore ¨C but not Rael, who was sick ¨C to his beach house study to listen to Iona again review her discussion with Royo. When she finished, Kargas said that Royo¡¯s intention to use Anna Mullins¡¯s murder to expose Rael had placed the mission in imminent danger. Protecting the royal twins meant silencing Royo. The question was how to do so quietly.


    Juganhouse tapped his pipe. ¡°Perhaps we¡¯re going about this all wrong. We¡¯ve been viewing Anna Mullins¡¯s murder as a complication because it started this whole mess. It¡¯s possible that it¡¯s also the solution to the problem.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s that?¡± asked Kargas.¡±


    ¡°Article Nine,¡± said Juganhouse.


    ¡°What¡¯s Article Nine?¡± asked Iona.


    Article Nine, Juganhouse explained, was part of Alleria¡¯s War Emergency Act. It was included in the law to help local authorities maintain order in communities surrounded by Rowowan forces by streamlining the judicial process. If implemented by the town¡¯s mayor, it suspended public trials by jury in front of a judge, cross-examination, right to counsel, and guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. Instead, the article permitted secret trials with the town council acting as jury and the mayor as judge. Each side submitted written statements summarizing their arguments, and a preponderance of the evidence determined guilt. There was no appeal, except to the town council, which was unlikely to reverse its original finding. Although many argued that Article Nine was a gross violation of civil liberties, it had enabled local authorities cut off from the Allerian government to keep control over their citizens during the conflict.


    When Juganhouse finished his summation, he looked around the table and asked, ¡°Do you know who issues the sentence under Article Nine?¡±


    Iona and Lattamore shook their heads, but not Kargas.


    Juganhouse smiled. ¡°The mayor.¡±


    Kargas took over the discussion. ¡°So, we can arrest Royo and try him secretly under Article Nine. If the council finds him guilty, you can sentence him to death. I will then tell him that if he publicly confesses to Anna Mullins¡¯s murder and promises to keep the secret about the royal twins¡¯ presence on the island, I¡¯ll arrange his ¡®escape¡¯ to the mainland.¡±


    ¡°But what if he refuses?¡± asked Iona. ¡°Are you going to execute him?¡±


    Kargas smirked. ¡°I have never met a man whose principles did not go out the window when his life was on the line. Of course he¡¯ll take the deal.¡±


    ¡°But what if he doesn¡¯t?¡± pressed Iona.


    ¡°Then we will execute him.¡± Kargas exclaimed. ¡°Either way, we win.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Juganhouse said, ¡°but what if he takes the deal, leaves the island, and then reneges? What if he goes to the Rowowans and tells them that the royals are here?¡±


    ¡°Well, I can¡¯t imagine Royo di Czezarchek breaking his word,¡± said Kargas. ¡°He¡¯s too self-righteous for that. And we will tell him that if he does, we will issue a warrant for his arrest that includes a bounty. The Rowowans may or may not respect it, but local police departments certainly will. He will spend his days running from the law and looking over his shoulder. Besides, who will believe him? He has no evidence, and there must be a hundred people a day claiming that you and Rael are nearby.¡±


    Lattamore had been silent the whole time, but now he spoke up. ¡°I think he killed that girl, and if you give me a little more time I¡¯ll prove it.¡±


    ¡°Oh, please,¡± replied Iona. ¡°Royo wouldn¡¯t do that. He couldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Princess,¡± said Lattamore, ¡°you don¡¯t know what war does to people.¡±


    Iona gave Lattamore the condescending glare she had long ago perfected. ¡°Mr. Lattamore, I don¡¯t know much about what happens on the battlefield, but I¡¯m very familiar with war¡¯s effect on people.¡± She turned to Kargas, ¡°I believe that you¡¯re underestimating Royo.¡±


    Kargas signaled the end of the meeting by standing up. ¡°Mr. Lattamore, arrest Royo as soon as you are ready. Put him in the old jail and find someone discreet to keep an eye on him until we brief the council and determine on a trial date.¡±


    From that point, events moved swiftly. The next day, Lattamore took Royo into custody on his way home from his bookstore and imprisoned him in the old jail. That same afternoon, Lattamore found two girls who claimed to have seen a man matching Royo¡¯s general description lurking around Anna Mullins¡¯ house on the night of her murder. With this helpful information in hand, Kargas ordered Lattamore to suspend his investigation. Juganhouse, for his part, thereupon authorized an Article Nine trial and summoned the city council for a closed-door meeting to explain the process.


    Convincing three of Kirkwell¡¯s four councilmen to participate in Royo¡¯s trial was not difficult. Securing Leo Sellford¡¯s acquiescence, on the other hand, proved more problematic. The shaggy-haired preacher of Kirkwell¡¯s Congregational Church was well-known around the island for his earthy sense of humor, commitment to the downtrodden, and integrity. Sellford not only questioned the need for an Article Nine trial when the regular courts were fully functional, but also doubted the basic fairness of the process. Juganhouse, though, assured him that the evidence would justify the unorthodox approach. Although Sellford grumbled that Juganhouse¡¯s logic was akin to seeing the proof after rendering a verdict, he reluctantly went along after Juganhouse insisted that the island¡¯s security was at stake. With the council¡¯s approval in hand, Juganhouse gave Lattamore and Royo two weeks to submit their statements to the council as part of the Article Nine procedure.


    Royo was an educated man, but he liked to keep things as simple as possible. He believed that simple was clear, direct, and honest. In his experience, people complicated things to confuse and hide the truth from others and even from themselves. Once in jail, though, Royo learned that simple was not always better. He had expected a traditional Allerian trial with lawyers, an open court, cross-examination, and a jury of his peers. He was dismayed to read the contents of Juganhouse¡¯s letter informing him that his trial would follow Article Nine rules. This made things simpler, but not fairer. Reading the details, Royo felt as if he had entered a house of mirrors designed to prevent the truth from emerging. It was obvious to Royo that Kargas had engineered these bizarre star chamber proceedings to keep him from publicly expressing his opinion that Rael was a murderer. That being the case, he concluded that he could do nothing to sway the council from what appeared to be a predetermined verdict. Even so, he submitted a brief statement to the council lamenting the lack of due process, denying any involvement in Anna Mullins¡¯s murder, and reminding its members that he was innocent until proven guilty.


    In other ways, Royo¡¯s life behind bars was relatively comfortable. In fact, it was almost like a vacation away from the daily grind of running the bookstore. The food was adequate and the two guards treated him respectfully. Although he was not allowed to communicate with anyone, Lattamore was kind enough to send over all the books he wanted. Despite the good conditions, Royo was both embarrassed and lonely. For some reason he felt responsible for all the fuss, even though on an intellectual level he knew it was not his fault. He replayed in his mind alternative scenarios from the past and possible scenarios in the future in an effort to figure out what he did wrong and what he could do to fix it. He saw no way out without abandoning his principles. Without work to keep him occupied, he thought a lot about his wife and daughter. He missed them terribly, but discovered that he had few concrete and specific memories about their time together. Finally, he wondered why God had put him in this unwinnable situation. Was it a test of his faith? As punishment for his sins? Some random event that had slipped through the divine cracks? He did not know. Or understand.


    Several days before Royo¡¯s and Lattamore¡¯s statements were due to the council, Mayor Juganhouse knocked on the door on what he and Lattamore referred to as the ¡°the palace.¡± Iona¡¯s servant girl, Lana, led him to Kargas¡¯s small study. Kargas put down his pen and beckoned him to take a seat.


    ¡°Well,¡± said Kargas as he poured Juganhouse a cup of tea from a pot, ¡°What can I do for you?¡±


    Juganhouse waited until Kargas handed him the cup of tea. ¡°I¡¯ve read over our statement for the council.


    Kargas arched his eyebrows. ¡°And?¡±


    Juganhouse took a deep breath. ¡°I don¡¯t think there¡¯s enough evidence here to persuade the council to convict Royo, even under Article Nine¡¯s reduced standards for guilt.¡±


    Kargas shook his head. ¡°Royo had means, motive, and opportunity to kill Anna Mullins. We also have the testimony of those two girls Lattamore found.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s enough,¡± replied Juganhouse. ¡°There are obvious questions about the girls¡¯ reliability as witnesses. Mr. Braxton told me that they were probably drunk. And I knew Royo when he was a student at the royal academy. Not well, but enough to doubt that he¡¯s a murderer. If I have these reservations, I¡¯m certain that Reverend Sellford will have them too.¡±


    ¡°If Royo did not kill her, then who did?¡± Kargas asked.


    Juganhouse squirmed in his chair. ¡°Do you want me to speak frankly?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    Juganhouse took another deep breath. ¡°Again, I was living in Aurora when Brenda Furthermore was murdered. I heard plenty of rumors about the prince¡¯s complicity. Isn¡¯t it possible that Royo was right then, and is right now? Maybe there is a connection between the two murders.¡±


    Kargas put his fingers together and collected his thoughts. ¡°Solving the murders of Brenda Furthermore and Anna Mullins is not our problem. Our problem is safeguarding the royal twins. Royo¡¯s Article Nine trial is a means to that end. We only need enough evidence to convince the city council to convict him, after which we can pressure him to leave the island and promise not to reveal his information. Someone else will have to worry about these unfortunate homicides.¡±


    Juganhouse was not convinced. ¡°But we may be muddying the waters here. Our actions may enable a killer to escape justice.¡±


    ¡°Well, we can clean up whatever mess there is after Royo¡¯s gone,¡± said Kargas.


    Juganhouse poured another cup of tea. ¡°Lattamore believes that Royo did it.¡±


    Kargas shrugged. ¡°We will see what the city council says.¡±


    Juganhouse wanted to say more. He wanted to explain that if the murders were related, then the list of suspects was limited to Frederick, Iona, Kargas, Rael, and Royo ¨C and himself. By suspending Lattamore¡¯s investigation, Kargas was obstructing efforts to get at the truth. He wondered if Kargas was afraid of what Lattamore might find. Kargas, however, was obviously uninterested in either Anna Mullins or Brenda Furthermore, except to the extent that they helped him protect Rael and Iona. That being the case, Juganhouse decided to remain silent.


    After Juganhouse left, Kargas remained in his study to think. Although he sometimes questioned Juganhouse¡¯s resolve, he appreciated his candor. The truth was that Kargas shared Juganhouse¡¯s doubts about the strength and quality of the evidence against Royo. He considered postponing the trial to give Lattamore more time to find additional proof, but feared that any delay would further complicate an already complicated situation and increase the chances of the Rowowans discovering that the royal twins were on Kirkwell.


    Kargas was not worried as much about the overlord stumbling upon the truth as he was about the Rowowan agent reportedly on the island. Lattamore¡¯s efforts to track him ¨C or her ¨C down had gotten nowhere. Kargas was reluctant to blame Lattamore for his failure. After all, it could be almost anyone. As he sipped his tea, though, Kargas suddenly realized that this was the sloppy thinking of the frustrated and lazy. He had spent enough time in counterintelligence during the war to know that the number of people on the island who could be Rowowan agents was quite limited. He or she was probably an outsider who had appeared on Kirkwell before the big wave of refugees. Someone who knew Allerian culture, was intelligent, and unobtrusive. Someone¡­like¡­Royo. Kargas bolted upright in his chair. There was a six year gap between the Siege of Lollister and the day Royo washed ashore on Kirkwell. No one knew for sure what had transpired during that time. He also harbored a grudge against the royal family. Could he be a spy? If he was, had he already informed the Rowowans about Rael and Iona¡¯s presence? Kargas doubted that; Lattamore had kept pretty close tabs on him between Anna Mullins¡¯s murder and his arrest. Although Kargas did not know for sure about Royo¡¯s true identity, he suddenly realized that he could use his suspicion to provide that nail in Royo¡¯s coffin that Juganhouse said was lacking.


    Three days later, the council met behind closed doors for Royo¡¯s Article Nine trial. Juganhouse again explained the article¡¯s provisions and then presented both the prosecutor¡¯s and Royo¡¯s written statements to the council. Before he left the room, though, Juganhouse added that the prosecution wanted to add an oral component to its report. With that, he opened the door, brought in Kargas, and left.


    Kargas had given plenty of presentations over the years and was good at it. He did not believe that there was anything mysterious about mastering them. The keys, he knew, were clarity of purpose, self-confidence, and likeability. After he entered the room, he walked to the front of the table around which the council was gathered, looked at them, and smiled.


    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± he began. ¡°My name is Michael Kargas. I am an adviser. Although I have seen all of you at one time or another, I have never properly introduced myself to you for reasons that will become apparent in a few minutes. Before I start, I need your assurances that you will keep the information I will divulge strictly confidential.¡±


    After glancing at each other, all four of them nodded their approval. With this flank secured, Kargas began his presentation.


    ¡°Before its surrender, the Allerian government sent me to Kirkwell to look after its interests. Think of me as the royal family¡¯s counterpart to our esteemed Rowowan overlord. I know you all have wondered why Mayor Juganhouse insisted upon an Article Nine trial for Roy Czezarchek. The fact is that there is more at stake than finding justice for Anna Mullins. It is our belief that Roy Czezarchek is not only a murderer, but also a Rowowan agent. It is therefore imperative that we neutralize him as soon as possible. Finding him guilty will kill two birds with one stone by removing both a killer and a traitor from the island.¡±


    Sellford spoke up. ¡°With all due respect, adviser, but the war is over. Why does it matter whether there is a Rowowan agent on the island or not? What¡¯s he doing here? Looking for the royal twins? We should focus on Anna Mullins¡¯s murder.¡±


    Kargas had expected that question from Sellford, though not the uncomfortable allusion to Rael and Iona. ¡°Thank you for your question, Reverend Sellford. Yes, the war is over. Yes, Alleria surrendered to Rowowa. However, the struggle for Allerian freedom and independence continues. As you know, Rowowa is undergoing severe internal problems because of the war ¨C riots, dislocation, inflation, shortages, leadership disputes, etc. The empire is starting to disintegrate, to rot away from the inside out. There is a reason why they have been unable to send a garrison here. In the near future Alleria will have the opportunity to wiggle out and reestablish its independence. This struggle will begin in the periphery, in places such as Kirkwell where Rowowan authority is all but nonexistent. We need the ability to organize without Rowowan knowledge. We can keep an eye on the overlord, but not on a well-trained Rowowan agent such as Roy Czezarchek.¡±


    Sellford remained skeptical. ¡°What¡¯s your evidence that Mr. Czezarchek is a well-trained Rowowan agent?¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately,¡± responded Kargas, ¡°we cannot for obvious reasons get into the details of our investigation without jeopardizing our intelligence sources.¡±


    Sellford rolled his eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t understand why you¡¯re bringing up any of this information. Mr. Czezarchek is on trial for murder. If he¡¯s a spy, then we can try him for that when we¡¯re done with him here. Assuming that that¡¯s even a crime now.¡±


    Before Kargas could reply, Leonard Walker, belligerent as ever, intervened. ¡°The point is that Czezarchek is a threat to the island. He¡¯s a murderer and probably a spy.¡±


    ¡°Maybe we ought to look at the evidence before we call him that,¡± said an exasperated Sellford.


    Kargas intervened to roll the poison apple that he hoped would lead to Royo¡¯s conviction. ¡°I cannot force you to take into account any information you do not want to consider. However, I also believe that the council should have all the information available. Whether you use my testimony or not is up to you.¡±


    Sellford remained disgruntled, but opted not to respond. Kargas thereupon excused himself and left the council to its deliberations. It remained in session all day and into the next. At the end of the second day, though, the council summoned Mayor Juganhouse and informed him that it believed that Roy Czezarchek more likely than not had murdered Anna Mullins. With the guilty verdict in hand, Juganhouse returned to his office and sentenced Roy Czezarchek to hang for his crime.

 10. The Verdict

    Chapter Ten


    THE VERDICT


    Kargas was greatly relieved when Lattamore brought him word that the council had convicted Royo. He believed that he now possessed the lever he needed to safely pry Royo off the island. Trouble, he mused, comes in all sizes and shapes. He did not hate Royo. Indeed, Kargas did not hate anyone. Royo was just another obstacle to Kargas¡¯s goal of reestablishing Allerian independence, and a minor one at that. He was confident that in a week or so everything would be back to normal.


    The next day, Kargas walked over to the old jail to deliver Royo the news of his conviction. When he entered his cell, he saw Royo seated on a chair reading a book. Royo did not stand or offer Kargas a seat.


    Kargas overlooked the breach of etiquette and got straight to the point. ¡°The council voted unanimously to convict you of Anna Mullins¡¯s murder. When he received the verdict, Mayor Juganhouse sentenced you to die by hanging in one week.¡±


    Royo showed no emotion, but instead said, ¡°What a surprise.¡±


    Kargas waited a long minute to let the news make an appropriate impact. ¡°It does not have to end this way. There is a way out of this that will satisfy everyone.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± asked Royo.


    ¡°Admit your guilt and throw yourself on the mercy of the mayor. If you do so, I promise that he will reduce your sentence from hanging to life imprisonment at a Rowowan detention facility in Emerald City. If you also pledge not to reveal the royal twins¡¯s presence here, I will arrange your escape so you can start your life over again somewhere else.¡±


    Royo smirked. ¡°How do you know I won¡¯t accept the deal and then reveal Rael and Iona¡¯s whereabouts as soon as I¡¯m free?¡±


    ¡°You have always been a man of your word, even back at the royal academy. I rely on your sense of honor. And if you do not, then I will file an arrest warrant for you so that every cop on the continent will be looking for you. You will never be safe. And who would believe you anyway?¡±


    Royo mulled the deal some more. He could accept it and hope that his letter led to Rael¡¯s arrest. But there was no guarantee that anyone would receive it or would act upon the information it contained. Nor did he trust Kargas to keep his word.


    There was more to it than that, though. Royo was tired ¨C tired of working so hard for so little, tired of the alienation from a culture that was not his own, tired of injustice, and tired of romantic disappointment. Most of all, he was tired of his past haunting his present. He never asked to go to the Royal Academy. Nor did he ask for the knowledge that Rael was a murderer. There was, he realized, nothing as wearying as trying to do the right thing alone.


    ¡°If I accept your proposal, it not only means admitting to a lie, but also that Rael will get away with murder. And he¡¯ll kill again, just like I warned you all those years ago. That doesn¡¯t sound like the honorable thing to do.¡±


    ¡°The murders of Anna Mullins and Brenda Furthermore are immaterial to our discussion,¡± said Kargas.


    ¡°Maybe to you, but not to me,¡± Royo replied.


    Kargas remained quiet. During the war he offered many such deals to more people than he cared to remember. They almost always accepted.


    Royo made up his mind. ¡°You¡¯re asking me to trust you. To trust you to commute my sentence. To trust you to arrange my escape. Do you remember the last time I trusted you?¡±


    ¡°No, no I do not.¡±


    ¡°Ten years ago you asked me to trust you to get to the bottom of Brenda Furthermore¡¯s murder. You did not do that. Moreover, after I entered the army, you had me transferred to the Siege of Lollister in the expectation that I would die there.¡±


    Kargas sighed. ¡°You are being paranoid and unfair. We did a thorough investigation of Brenda Furthermore¡¯s murder, but did not find sufficient evidence to arrest anyone. And I was too busy and too low on the totem pole to have you transferred anywhere.¡±


    Royo smirked. ¡°I decline your offer.¡±


    Kargas was annoyed. ¡°This is not some game, Mr. Czezarchek. You have been convicted of murder. The offer remains open, but if you do not accept it, you will die one week from today.¡±


    When Royo returned to reading his book, Kargas took the hint and left the cell.


    Although Roy¡¯s trial had been a secret, its verdict and sentence were not. Both generated considerable discussion throughout the island. After all, no one on Kirkwell had ever been subjected to an Article Nine trial before, and it had been a quarter century since anyone on the island had been executed. Unfortunately for Roy, all this buzz failed to translate into concrete assistance. No one was inclined to defend an Ethosian, especially one as withdrawn, taciturn, and brooding as Roy. Moreover, most people assumed he was guilty because the rumormill stated that two witnesses saw him near the scene of the crime.


    Horace Oxenstera steered clear of the drama surrounding Anna Mullins¡¯s murder. He instead stuck to his routine of visiting various establishments, reading Allerian fiction, taking long walks around the island, and hobnobbing with disparate groups of people. Although he continued to attend city council meetings, he rarely said anything. Nor did anyone waste time asking him questions after it became clear that his authority and power were limited. Locals were friendly toward him, but behind his back spoke of him with a sort of humorous condescension. If this lack of respect bothered the overlord, he gave no indication of it. Considering his laissez faire attitude toward his responsibilities, it came as a surprise when, two days after Juganhouse announced Roy Czezarchek¡¯s sentence, Horace asked to say a few words to the council.


    Horace¡¯s tenure on Kirkwell had done little to alleviate his distaste for public speaking. As he stood behind the podium, he nervously fidgeted with his eyepatch until Juganhouse nodded to him. ¡°Gentlemen,¡± he began. ¡°Like everyone else, I learned several days ago that the council has found Mr. Roy Czezarchek guilty of Anna Mullins¡¯s murder and that the mayor has sentenced him to death by hanging. Despite my deep respect for local autonomy, I have serious doubts about the entire process that led to his conviction.¡±


    All talking in the hall stopped, and Juganhouse and the council members straightened up in their seats. Horace waited to let his words sink in.


    ¡°It¡¯s my understanding that Mr. Czezarchek¡¯s trial was conducted under so-called Article Nine proceedings. I question its validity in general and in this case in particular. First of all, Article Nine was a royal law, not a local ordinance. Because the Allerian government no longer exists, I don¡¯t see how the law can be valid. Secondly, the Allerian assembly designed Article Nine for local communities whose regular court systems had collapsed. This is not the case in Kirkwell. The court system here was fully capable of trying this case. Finally, it is obvious to me that Mr. Czezarchek received almost no due process. He was not permitted to retain counsel, to cross-examine witnesses, and to see the evidence against him. For the life of me, I don¡¯t understand how anyone can argue that the trial was fair. Article Nine states that the council can reverse its decision by unanimous vote, and I strongly urge you all to do so. Otherwise, you risk sending an innocent man to the gallows.¡±


    Kargas was as usual in attendance, sitting quietly in the back of the room. The overlord¡¯s speech surprised him because he had since his arrival shown little interest in exerting any influence or authority over Kirkwell. Indeed, Horace seemed more like a bemused tourist than a Rowowan overlord. Kargas wondered about Horace¡¯s motivation. If he was trying to defend a Rowowan agent, publicly challenging the council¡¯s collective wisdom was a clumsy and counterproductive way to go about it. Nor had the overlord seem particularly interested in issues of justice and morality until now. Whatever his reasoning, Kargas knew that someone had to respond. Kargas wished he could do so, but it was not his place. Instead, he relied on Juganhouse. Before the mayor could open his mouth, though, the pugnacious Leonard Walker, always alert for an opportunity to challenge Rowowa, spoke up.


    ¡°Overlord,¡± said Walker with the sarcasm he invariably applied to the word. ¡°You clearly stated to the council when you arrived here that you would not interfere with our local government. Anna Mullins¡¯s murder is an internal Kirkwellian affair. Moreover, you lack the expertise to comment intelligently on the matter. Have you read the statements? Have you talked to any witnesses? Have you seen the crime scene? Are you a policeman or lawyer? Do you know any more about this case than the average man on the street? Of course not. Your authority, such as it is, does not make you sufficiently knowledgeable to impose on this council. It seems to me that you should focus on inspecting local businesses and leave the governing of the island to others.¡±


    Kargas shuddered at Walker¡¯s defiance. He preferred the more diplomatic response Juganhouse would have provided. Horace, though, merely shrugged. ¡°I just want it on the record that I believe this is a bad idea,¡± he said.


    Of course, thought Kargas. He wants to show his superiors that he spoke out on this matter in case they make an issue out of it. He was merely covering his ass, like any good bureaucrat.


    Horace¡¯s concern for Royo may have been artificial and perfunctory, but Iona¡¯s grew more genuine with each passing hour. The day after Mayor Juganhouse announced Royo¡¯s verdict and sentence, Iona discovered in a small chest of keepsakes she had brought with her from Aurora a cheap pendant Royo gave her for her sixteenth birthday. She did not know that she had kept it. She remembered that during the ensuing conversation Royo had said that truth was the purest and most valuable thing in the world. Her gut told her that Royo was innocent of Anna Mullins¡¯s murder. That being the case, she knew he would not betray his ideals by admitting to a crime he did not commit.


    Two days before Royo¡¯s scheduled execution, Iona visited Kargas in his study to express her concerns. After hearing her out, Kargas again assured her that Royo would confess his guilt to escape the hangman.


    ¡°But what if he doesn¡¯t?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure he will,¡± Kargas responded airily.


    Iona disliked the condescension in his voice. ¡°You keep saying he will confess, but what if he doesn¡¯t?¡±


    Kargas looked at her sharply and with some exasperation. ¡°If he does not confess, then he will be executed for the crime for which he was convicted.¡±


    Iona was silent for a minute, biting lower lip. ¡°I don¡¯t believe he murdered anyone.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Kargas replied. ¡°That was not your decision. The city council read the evidence and concluded otherwise.¡±


    ¡°Just because the court convicted him does not make it true,¡± she retorted.


    ¡°It does in the eyes of the law.¡±


    Now it was Iona¡¯s turn to become exasperated. ¡°You¡¯re arguing semantics.¡±


    Kargas pushed back his chair and looked Iona in the eyes. ¡°You are right. My primary objective ¨C our primary objective ¨C is to protect you and Rael until the time is right to restore Allerian independence. Everything else is secondary. Royo constitutes a threat to our goals. If he chooses to die, then so be it. I know this is difficult for you, but if you want to contribute to our cause, if you want to be royalty, if you want to be an adult, then you must learn to make such tough decisions. Sometimes you need to sacrifice for the greater good.¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe that Royo ever wanted to be part of this game.¡±


    Kargas softened. ¡°If there is one thing I learned in the war, it is that innocence provides no protection.¡±


    Iona saw no point in continuing the debate, so she ended the conversation and stalked out of the room. In the following days, though, the bad terms on which she left Royo haunted her. She lost sleep and did not eat well. She wanted to see him not so much to change his mind ¨C she doubted that was possible ¨C but rather to make her peace with him. The problem was arranging a meeting. Although she knew he was being held in the old jail, Kargas and Lattamore had issued strict orders forbidding visitors.


    Determination was not always Iona¡¯s strong suit, but she was capable of remarkable resourcefulness when properly motivated. Kirkwell was full of activity and tension the day before Royo¡¯s scheduled execution. Onlookers flocked to the village green to gawk as workers erected the scaffolding for the gallows. While watching the activities, Iona noticed one of the island¡¯s reputed prostitutes standing nearby. She suddenly had an idea. She returned to her home, retreated to her room, locked the door, and spent an hour turning herself into a Kirkwell Island whore: heavy rouge, thick eyeliner, red lipstick. She also removed her jewelry and put on her most garish dress and black stockings. By the time she was finished, she was confident in her disguise, but worried that she lacked the attitude to make it truly authentic. Despite her doubts, at dusk she slipped unnoticed out of her beach house and headed into town.


    The old jail was a simple stone building near the waterfront. It contained a foyer with a long hallway leading to several small cells in the back. That evening it was guarded by a former police officer Lattamore hired named Owens with a flat face and small eyes. When Iona pulled the heavy door open, he was seated at a desk reading a newspaper. He looked Iona up and down, but did not speak.


    Iona shut the door behind her. ¡°I¡¯m here to see the prisoner.¡±


    ¡°No one is allowed to see him.¡±


    Iona thought for a moment. Although she did not know a lot about prostitutes, she figured that they needed to be assertive and vague to do their jobs well. ¡°Some of Mr. Czezarchek¡¯s friends contracted with me to provide him with comfort on his last night on earth.¡±


    Owens regarded her skeptically. ¡°No visitors.¡±


    Iona tried another tack. ¡°Look, I don¡¯t get paid unless Mr. Czezarchek gets¡­serviced. Surely we can work out some arrangement.¡±


    Owens looked around and smiled. ¡°You can have a half hour with him if you provide me with the same service.¡±


    Although Iona had no intention of doing so, she agreed. ¡°Okay, but Mr. Czezarchek¡¯s friends paid for an hour.¡±


    Owens nodded. ¡°Fine.¡±


    Royo did not hear Iona¡¯s conversation with Owens. As his execution approached, he had grown increasingly lethargic and apathetic. He felt like an insect caught in a Kargas-constructed web in which there was no escape. Although Kargas had offered him a way out by admitting his guilt, Royo doubted that he would honor his pledge. As far as he could tell, death was certain whether he confessed or not. He saw the deal instead as a dishonest trap designed to deflect suspicion away from Rael. Keeping silent would at least prevent that. In the meantime, Royo focused on the next world. He tried to convince himself that there was not much for him in this one, just loneliness, alienation, and a marginally successful bookstore. The afterlife, on the other hand, promised a reunion with his family and being in God¡¯s presence. Besides, Royo reasoned, he should have died in the war like so many others more worthy than himself. Perhaps his imminent death was just the scales of fate balancing themselves.


    Royo was lying on his cot when Owens showed up with Iona in tow. After Owens left, Royo sat up, laughed, and said, ¡°You look like a whore. I¡¯m not in the mood.¡±


    Iona smiled nervously. ¡°It was the only way I could think of to get to see you.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± said Royo, ¡°if you¡¯re here to change my mind, you¡¯re wasting your time.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± replied Iona. ¡°I wish you would, but I know you won¡¯t.¡±


    As if trying to reassure himself, Royo explained, ¡°If I confess, Kargas will still have me executed.¡±


    Iona sat down next to Royo, took his arm, and placed it over her shoulders. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry that this has happened to you. If we hadn¡¯t come to this island¡­¡± She started to cry, but caught herself and smiled through her tears. ¡°I don¡¯t want you to die. Certainly not like this.¡±


    Royo turned to her. ¡°Sooner or later you will discover or realize the truth about your brother. You¡¯ll put it together eventually. When you do, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll do the right thing to stop him before he hurts someone else.¡±


    ¡°Royo¡­.¡±


    ¡°When that happens,¡± Royo continued, raising his voice to overcome hers, ¡°and you hesitate to act, remember that doing so will give my death some meaning.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Iona responded, wiping the tears from her eyes.


    They sat in silence for a few moments. Iona finally said, ¡°Tell me about your wife and daughter.¡±


    Royo brightened. ¡°It¡¯s a long story.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± chortled Iona, ¡°we have an hour. And since you¡¯re not interested in sex, talking is all we have left.¡±


    Royo spent a few seconds collecting his thoughts, unsure of where to begin and what to include. ¡°After officer training at Emerald City, the army sent me to Ethosia to serve as a liaison with local communities. Show the Ethosians that Alleria had their best interests at heart, that sort of thing, though I spent most of my time accompanying generals to ritzy parties with wealthy Ethosians.


    ¡°After a year or so this lieutenant colonel named Turnkey showed up with orders for me to report to Narnicle ¨C it¡¯s a rail center in central Ethosia ¨C to assume command of a platoon. The directive didn¡¯t come through regular channels, which in fact seemed odd, but I had been in the army long enough to know that it wasn¡¯t the most logical or rationale organization. Besides, orders were orders. Stranger yet, this Colonel Turnkey not only accompanied me to Narnicle, but he wouldn¡¯t let me out of his sight. When I learned that he was working at the palace, I asked him if anyone had made any progress in Brenda Furthermore¡¯s murder. He replied that he had just returned from a trip that shed considerable light on the matter, but refused to elaborate. At Narnicle we switched trains and headed toward Lollister, which was then almost completely surrounded by the Rowowans. The place was a killing zone. On our way there, in the middle of the night, the train came under Rowowan artillery fire. The first shell landed right in the middle of our car. It killed Colonel Turnkey and wounded me.¡± Royo held up his left hand for Iona to see. ¡°It took off the tips of my left thumb and forefinger. I also got a splinter in my left side.


    ¡°I woke up next morning in a hospital in Pomeroya in considerable pain. However, it was the best thing that could have happened to me. If I had reached Lollister and taken over that platoon, I would almost certainly have been killed in that hellhole. When I recovered from my wounds, the hospital did not know what to do with me because there was no official paperwork on me, no evidence that I was in the Allerian army, nothing. While the powers-that-be sorted out my status, I made myself useful to the hospital commander as a kind of informal executive officer. That means that I did the unpleasant jobs he did not want. Also, the fact that I was Ethosian helped in dealing with the locals. It wasn¡¯t bad duty. I felt useful. And it was comparatively safe.


    ¡°A few months later,¡± continued Royo, ¡°the Rowowans launched their Kornilov offensive. They broke through our lines in a week and advanced in our direction. Artillery got louder and scarier with each passing hour. We had to evacuate the hospital and its wounded. We spent two days loading everything portable and valuable onto trains. On the morning of third day there were a half dozen of us still there. I looked at a map and figured that the Rowowans had probably cut the last road out, so I suggested that we strike out across the mountains to safety. However, my companions insisted on driving the truck out. I knew that was a bad idea. I gathered all the food I could carry, said my goodbyes, and climbed up the mountain trail by myself. It took me all day to get to the top. When I did, I looked down to see Rowowan troops occupying the town.


    ¡°From there I hiked forty miles until I reached a village called Serreno. It was a remote place high in the mountains almost completely isolated from the rest of Ethosia. As self-contained as the royal academy, only without the pretentiousness. Its mayor ¨C they call them headmen in that region ¨C was a friend of my father. He appointed me his military adviser, though I have no idea whether he had the authority to do so ¨C I wasn¡¯t about to ask. My main jobs were procuring supplies and keeping an eye out for Rowowan patrols. Every few months or so Rowowan troops came through, so we hid in caves until they left. Life was primitive, but relatively safe. I spent more than two years there.¡±


    A loud thump echoed down the hallway. Royo stopped talking and looked questioningly at Iona. ¡°Should I stop talking and take off my clothes?¡± he asked. Iona elbowed him in his stomach. They listened for a moment, but heard nothing else. Royo relaxed and continued his story.


    ¡°Soon after I arrived at Serreno, I met Rachel. She was the teacher in the village school. She was beautiful: raven-haired, svelte¡­just¡­beautiful. Like you, she enjoyed walking and reading. She was also kind-hearted, generous, and funny. She had no pretense whatsoever. She cried even at the thought of suffering. But she was also industrious, tough, and devout. I fell for her the minute I laid eyes on her. We married less than a year after I showed up. I never worried that she would leave me or betray me. She provided a security that I had never had in a relationship. A year after that she gave birth to our daughter. We named her Tabatha, after her mom, with whom we lived. Although I wouldn¡¯t say that our life was idyllic, it seemed as good as it could get under the circumstances.¡±


    Iona wondered if Royo was subtly comparing her to Rachel. If he was, she ignored the implied criticism. ¡°Do you have a photograph of them?¡± she asked.


    ¡°No,¡± Royo replied. ¡°I lost them all. In fact, I have a hard time remembering their physical details, especially Tabatha¡¯s.¡± He stopped to get control of his emotions. ¡°I take comfort in knowing that by this time tomorrow I¡¯ll be with them.¡±


    ¡°Go on,¡± urged Iona.


    Royo leaned back on the cot and continued. ¡°By then the Rowowan army had driven the Allerians out of Ethosia. I assume that the Rowowans wanted to clean up whatever resistance remained in Ethosia before they invaded Alleria. Whatever the reason, one morning they attacked Serreno in force. I wasn¡¯t there though. I had taken the headman¡¯s car and driven down to Orundo Bay to procure whatever supplies I could find. My friends later told me that one of the first Rowowan shells landed right on my mother-in-law¡¯s house, killing her, Rachel, and Tabatha instantly. I never had the courage to question their story because I can¡¯t stand the thought of them suffering. There were Rowowan troops everywhere when I returned to Serreno. I turned around and took the backroads back to Orundo Bay. Then the car broke down. To make a long story short, I eventually walked up the coast to Mingayan and signed on with a departing Valgoran merchant ship. I spent the next couple years picking up and delivering cargo to various Valgoran and Allerian ports until a Rowowan submarine sank my ship offshore.¡±


    Royo stopped talking and shrugged his shoulders. ¡°Well, that¡¯s about it. It sounds more interesting than it was.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry you had such a terrible war,¡± she said. Then, realizing the insipidness of her comment, she laughed nervously.


    Royo chuckled back. ¡°And what did you do during the war?¡±


    Iona struggled to articulate her thoughts and feelings. She wanted to list her accomplishments, the innumerable ways she had contributed to the war effort, her sacrifices and sufferings, but was suddenly embarrassed to realize that she could not think of any. Instead, she confessed her feelings of inadequacy, her poor judgment in her romantic life, and her worry that she had failed to live up to her father¡¯s expectations. She again apologized for treating him so badly, and that her presence on Kirkwell contributed to his current plight. It felt good to get it all off her chest.


    The tolling church bell indicated that their hour together was almost over. As they stood, Royo said, ¡°I know it¡¯s a lot to ask, but will you be there tomorrow? I want a friend in the crowd before I¡­go.¡±


    Iona choked back a sob. ¡°Yes, of course.¡±


    ¡°Make sure you stand in the front so I can see you.¡±


    Iona nodded. ¡°I will.¡±


    ¡°Will you wear one of your white dresses? And wear your hair down?¡± Royo asked.


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    Iona threw her arms around Royo, who hugged her back. When the guard failed to appear, they remained in that position. A minute turned into two, then five, and finally ten. They continued to embrace each other. Every couple minutes, Iona said, ¡°Tighter, tighter,¡± until Royo squeezed her so hard that she could barely breathe. When Owens finally appeared to escort Iona out, Royo kissed her on the forehead. Iona then reached up, put her hand behind his head, and pulled him forward for a more substantive kiss on the lips.


    Owens led Iona down the hallway to the foyer. When they arrived, he smiled and said, ¡°Now it¡¯s my turn.¡±


    Iona smiled back. ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    ¡°We made a deal,¡± said Owens. ¡°You need to keep your end of it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m breaking the deal,¡± retorted Iona. ¡°Goodbye.¡±


    Owens gripped her arm. ¡°I don¡¯t think you understand. If you don¡¯t¡­comply, I¡¯ll arrest you for prostitution and throw you in the real jail. You can plead your case before the judge after the hanging. Of course, it will be all be public record for everyone to see¡­friends, family, and so forth.¡±


    Iona froze. Although she had no compunction about breaking a promise to a sleazy guard, she did not want to let Royo down by failing to show up for his execution. Moreover, appearing before a judge would surely doom the mission upon which the future of the kingdom depended. She grimaced, walked over to the desk, and bent over it. Behind her, she heard Owens unbuckle his trousers, and then felt him lift her dress and pull down her underwear. As he entered her, Iona shut her eyes and put her head down. She tried to remove herself mentally from her body and distance herself emotionally. Instead, she felt degradation and shame for finding herself in this situation. It was almost as if this was some unholy penance for the sins she had just confessed to Royo.


    When Owens finished, he pulled up his trousers and slapped her on her thigh. ¡°See,¡± he chuckled, ¡°that wasn¡¯t so bad. All in a night¡¯s work, eh?¡±


    Iona quickly sorted herself out and exited the building. As she scurried home, her shame and anger increased. By the time she settled into a bath, though, she was thoroughly exhausted and emotionally numb. She wanted to cry, but the tears did not come. She had always been proud to be an Allerian princess, and had enjoyed the perks that came with it. There were of course burdens to the job, but the positives had usually outweighed the negatives. Since the war¡¯s end, though, being a princess had become one unhappy duty after another, cumulating in the sacrifice of her virtue for the sake of one of her friends and subjects.


    After she got out of the tub and dried herself off, Iona walked into her bedroom. There she methodically and catatonically selected the clothes she planned to wear for Royo¡¯s execution. She was determined to see him off as the princess she was.

 11. The Unforeseen Event

    Chapter Eleven


    THE UNFORESEEN EVENT


    Owens and Lattamore woke Royo up next morning before the sun rose. As Royo stretched and looked out the tiny cell window, he noticed that the clear sky promised another bright summertime Kirkwell day. Royo declined their offer of breakfast because he did not want to vomit in front of the crowd he assumed would cheerfully attend his hanging. His preacher, Reverend Allen McCormick, arrived shortly thereafter to comfort him. Although Royo felt he had already made his peace with God, he listened patiently as McCormick nervously prayed for his salvation. When he finished, Lattamore and Owens escorted him out of the jail to the gallows on the town square. The crowd Royo suspected was already on hand to watch the spectacle. The mocking and ridicule Royo feared, though, failed to materialize. Instead, the throng seemed uneasy and downcast, as if doubts had infected its collective mentality now that the reality of the situation had presented itself.


    Kargas was of course among the onlookers, though he was far more conductor than spectator. He sensed the crowd¡¯s hesitant mood and beckoned Lattamore to hurry things along. Looking around, he was relieved by the overlord¡¯s apparent absence and assumed it was another of Horace¡¯s ineffectual protests. On the other hand, he was appalled to see Iona enter the town square in an ivory white sequenced dress with a plunging neckline. Her blonde hair was down, and she wore a diamond necklace. She looked every bit like the princess she was. She glided through the crowd liked a specter and secured a position right in front of the scaffolding. She was set apart not only by the morning light that illuminated her personage, but also by the space that those around her accorded her. The look she exchanged with Royo contradicted her assertion that the two had quarreled during their encounter at Anchor Hill Park. Kargas thought about directing one of Lattamore¡¯s deputies to escort her off the village green, but decided that that would simply draw even more attention to her.


    Lattamore walked Royo to the top of the scaffolding. In the past week, Lattamore had developed a grudging respect for the man. ¡°Last chance, Mr. Czezarchek,¡± he said. ¡°Admit your guilt and Mayor Juganhouse will commute your sentence and arrange for your escape.¡± He leaned into Royo¡¯s face. ¡°For God¡¯s sake, take the deal, Mr. Czezarchek.¡±


    Royo shook his head. ¡°You¡¯re asking me to lie. I won¡¯t lie.¡± He ran his eyes over the crowd and spotted Iona immediately. She was standing ramrod straight with tears running down her face, looking majestic. She reminded him of an angel. When their eyes locked, Royo sensed her sadness and distress, and wished he could do something to make her feel better. He took great comfort in her presence, and reminded himself again that he would soon be with his wife and daughter in the next world. Even so, his legs began shaking so violently that he leaned on Lattamore for support. Lattamore cut off his train of thought by reading the verdict and sentence in a loud and booming voice. Everyone stopped talking and quiet settled over the multitude of spectators.


    The children noticed the low rhythmic clomping before anyone else. One by one, they started pulling and fussing at their parents. People turned their heads, first singly, then in pairs, and finally everyone was craning their necks to look down the street leading from the village green to the docks. There, tramping up the road, marched a company of Rowowan soldiers, with Horace alongside struggling to keep up and keep in time.


    Juganhouse glanced at Kargas, then hurried over to meet the column of soldiers as it approached the gallows. Several of the police officers placed their hands on their holsters. ¡°Overlord!¡± bellowed Juganhouse. ¡°What is the meaning of this? Why is the empire interfering in a local matter? This is not Rowowa¡¯s business.¡±


    A Rowowan captain ordered the soldiers to halt. Horace stopped too, gazed at the scene around him, and said to Juganhouse, ¡°It¡¯s the empire¡¯s business now.¡± He turned to the officer and shouted, ¡°Captain Mason, if any police officer touches his weapon, order your men to shoot him.¡±


    The police officers looked at Juganhouse, who signaled for them to stand down. With that settled, Horace hollered, ¡°Captain, release that prisoner!¡± The captain motioned to a sergeant, who directed several soldiers to ascend the scaffolding and retrieve Royo. After they did so, Horace pointed to the four council members and their spouses standing together behind Juganhouse. ¡°Captain, detain these men and place them under guard in the barbershop over there. Don¡¯t let anyone talk to them.¡±


    Another squad roughly seized the protesting council members and hustled them off to the barbershop. As they did so, Horace pointed to the spouses left behind and said, ¡°Now take these women down to the docks and hold them there.¡±


    This done, Horace turned to the crowd. ¡°Show¡¯s over, folks! There will be no hanging, not today. Go home and enjoy your families.¡±


    As the crowd melted away, Horace¡¯s eyes fell on the starkly-dressed Iona. He watched her intently for a long moment as she retreated up the street to the beach house. Horace ordered the captain to stay on the green, then walked over to the barbershop. The council members were inside, sitting on the establishment¡¯s various chairs and talking amongst themselves. Horace held up his hand before they could register their objections. He took a piece of paper out of the inside pocket of his jacket and placed it on the table.


    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± he said, ¡°I have here a legal document reversing your guilty verdict on Mr. Czezarchek¡¯s case. I want you all to sign it. I won¡¯t have Allerian separatists operating under the assumption that they have some sort of bogus legal authority to assassinate him.¡±


    Leonard Walker leaped to his feet. ¡°You Rowowan son-of-a-bitch! I won¡¯t sign anything.¡±


    Horace pointed out the window toward the docks. ¡°I have your wives under guard over there. If you don¡¯t sign, I¡¯ll charge them with sedition or treason or anything else I can think of and put them on the boat to the mainland. Once they get into the Rowowan judicial system it will take years to get them out, if ever. I can free them right now, but once they¡¯re on the ship, there¡¯s nothing I can do about it. The troops will leave in an hour or so. Make up your mind.¡±


    After a long silence, Horace tried again, focusing his attention on Reverend Sellford. ¡°You all know that Mr. Czezarchek didn¡¯t kill anyone and that the trial was a sham that had nothing to do with delivering justice. All that I¡¯m asking is that you do the right thing.¡± He turned to Walker. ¡°And believe me, I will send your wives to a Rowowan prison camp.¡±


    ¡°Overlord,¡± said Sellford. ¡°Let¡¯s discuss this without involving our wives. They have nothing to do with this.¡±


    Horace pointed at Sellford. ¡°You know who else had nothing to do with any of this? Royo Czezarchek. And you know it.¡±


    Horace left the room to let the councilmen discuss the matter in private. Although Walker initially insisted that they stand their ground, Sellford cut him off. ¡°No, this was wrong from the start. I knew it at the time, and I feel even more strongly now. I won¡¯t compound the error.¡± With that, he took out a pen and signed the document.


    Walker was outraged. ¡°You¡¯re letting a Rowowan agent go free.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know that for sure,¡± responded another councilman as he affixed his signature to the document. ¡°But I do know that my wife is more important than an alleged Rowowan spy operating on a remote island after the war.¡±


    After the other councilman signed, everyone turned to Walker. ¡°You need to sign it too,¡± said Sellford.


    ¡°Absolutely not,¡± Walker responded. ¡°The overlord can go to hell.¡±


    Sellford frowned. ¡°You heard him, Leonard. He will send our wives to prison. Think of your family. No one is asking you to give up the fight against Rowowan occupation. We¡¯re just asking you to right one particular wrong that has little to do with Rowowa.¡±


    Walker hesitated for a minute before angrily scrawling his name on the document.


    When Horace returned ten minutes later, Sellford handed him the document. Horace glanced at it and said, ¡°You all can go collect your families down at the docks.¡±


    Horace watched the councilmen shuffle down the street before he walked over to talk to a shellshocked Royo. He was still standing at the foot of the gallows where the soldiers had left him, looking around for someone to tell him where to go and what to do.


    ¡°Hello, Royo,¡± said Horace. ¡°Long time no see.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± responded Royo, still stunned by the sudden turn of events.


    Horace looked him in the eye. ¡°You could have at least sent us a resignation letter. We thought you were dead.¡±


    Royo ignored the comment. ¡°Am I free to go?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± replied Horace. ¡°You¡¯re leaving the island with the soldiers.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± said Royo, snapping out of his stupor. ¡°No, I have to get back to my bookstore.¡±


    Horace shook his head. ¡°If you stay here, someone will to kill you for any of a half dozen reasons, and I won¡¯t have that on my conscience.¡± That was certainly true, but Horace also saw Royo as an unpredictably random element on the island whose very presence was likely to court trouble. Horace took some cash out of his pocket. ¡°This is all the money I have, but it¡¯s enough to get you on your way. I¡¯ll sell off your bookstore and house and send the proceeds to an account I¡¯ll set up for you today or tomorrow at the Imperial Bank in Emerald City. But you need to leave now.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Royo repeated. ¡°If I leave, everyone will think I killed Anna.¡±


    Horace took out of his pocket the document the councilmen had just signed and slapped it on Royo¡¯s chest. ¡°Nope, the council just changed its mind. You¡¯re in the clear. I¡¯ll file it with the clerk today or tomorrow, but you still need to leave.¡±


    Horace snatched the document back after Royo read it and escorted him down to the docks. The councilmen had already retrieved their wives and left. Captain Mason was hurrying his soldiers back onto the transport that had brought them over from Rahway on the mainland. After saying a quick goodbye to Royo, Horace talked with Mason. ¡°Thanks for coming over on such short notice.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± Mason replied. ¡°By the way, do you know why General Mancusso ordered the rest of our battalion to Rahway?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Horace exclaimed.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Mason continued. ¡°Seems like a waste of resources to bring five hundred men to such a remote place.¡±


    ¡°When is it supposed to arrive?¡± asked Horace.


    ¡°This afternoon, I think.¡±


    Horace thanked Mason again and told him to make sure Royo reached the mainland safely. After he watched the transport pull away from the wharf and head across the bay to Rahway, he hurried back to his hotel room.


    While Horace hustled back to his hotel, Kargas, Juganhouse, and Lattamore met in Juganhouse¡¯s city hall office. By then Kargas had learned not only that the council had reversed its verdict, but also that Royo was leaving the island without pledging to keep his knowledge about the royal twins secret. Lattamore began the conversation by damning the councilmen for their pusillanimity. Kargas, though, was more forgiving. Although he was unmarried, he knew that most men would never willingly sacrifice their wives for something as abstract as the kingdom. Assuming, of course, that they loved their wives. He remained grateful that he had never felt any sexual attraction to anyone.


    "What do we do now?¡± asked Lattamore.


    ¡°Well,¡± responded Kargas, ¡°first of all, I want to know how the overlord managed to summon a company of Rowowan soldiers here at the last minute without us knowing about it. I assume he did not use the telegraph or the post office. He did not leave the island, did he?¡±


    ¡°No, he didn¡¯t do any of that,¡± said Lattamore. ¡°Maybe he contacted that Rowowan agent supposedly on the island.¡±


    ¡°I thought Royo was the Rowowan agent,¡± said Juganhouse. ¡°He¡¯s been in jail.¡±


    Kargas shrugged. ¡°Maybe Royo isn¡¯t the spy.¡±


    Juganhouse scratched his chin. ¡°Who has the overlord talked to in the last week?¡±


    ¡°Are you serious?¡± Lattamore exclaimed. ¡°He talks to everyone.¡± He reached for a notebook containing a daily record of Horace¡¯s actions. ¡°Last week he visited Pat Cobb¡¯s livery, Simon Cossum¡¯s general goods store, Aaron Stevenson¡¯s engraving shop, the sewage treatment facility, and Roger Thomas¡¯s carpentry. Then there are the people he chats up at bars, restaurants, at the hotel, on the streets, at city council meetings, and so forth.¡±


    ¡°So it could be anyone,¡± said Juganhouse.


    ¡°Well, yes and no,¡± said Lattamore. ¡°That¡¯s just it. Almost everyone he talks to is well-known to this community. In fact, most of them are lifelong Kirkwellians. Everyone he has interacted with has checked out.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± said Juganhouse. ¡°Has he done anything odd lately?¡±


    ¡°Are you kidding me?¡± asked Lattamore. ¡°He took a yodeling lesson from Frank Overman. He bought a lockpicking kit. He went kiteflying at Sparrow¡¯s Point¡­.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± interrupted Kargas. ¡°He went kiteflying?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Kargas thought for a second. ¡°Can you see the kite from the mainland?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Lattamore. ¡°Rahway is five miles away.¡±


    Kargas shook his head. ¡°I mean from the Heath. From Fillipin.¡±


    ¡°Well, sure.¡±


    Kargas smirked. ¡°Seems like a good way to summon help, via a prearranged signal.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t seem smart enough,¡± said Juganhouse. ¡°Besides, how could he know it would be windy enough?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s always windy there,¡± responded Lattamore.


    Kargas slammed his hand down on the table. ¡°Of course! Don¡¯t you get it? He is the agent. He is not some down-and-out major; he is the Rowowan spy.¡± Lattamore and Juganhouse looked at each other. ¡°Think about it,¡± Kargas cried. ¡°What better way to infiltrate the town? He has been hiding in plain sight.¡±


    Juganhouse squinted hard. ¡°But you saw his personnel file.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Kargas responded. ¡°My contact saw a summary of his personnel file. Who is to say that it is legitimate?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be damned,¡± said Lattamore.


    Juganhouse nodded. ¡°It does make sense. Or, I should say, it makes more sense than anything else.¡±


    ¡°Does this change anything?¡± asked Lattamore.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Kargas responded. ¡°Did you see the princess? She was hard to miss, and I noticed the overlord looking at her. He must have guessed her identity.¡±


    ¡°If that was the case,¡± Juganhouse said, ¡°wouldn¡¯t the overlord have just ordered the troops to arrest her today?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Kargas said. ¡°He will investigate first. Plan things out.¡±


    ¡°So¡­¡± said Juganhouse.


    Kargas grimaced. ¡°We need to kill him.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± yelled Juganhouse.


    ¡°Look,¡± Kargas said, ¡°I strongly suspect that he recognized Iona. He will not move against her until he can confirm his suspicions. That gives us a window of opportunity to deal with him once and for all.¡±


    ¡°But we don¡¯t know that for sure,¡± said Juganhouse. ¡°And even if we do¡­remove him, that won¡¯t solve the problem. What¡¯s to prevent Royo from divulging his information to Rowowan authorities? He might be doing so right now, for all we know.¡±


    Kargas shook his head emphatically. ¡°No, I saw the look Royo and the princess exchanged. I do not know what transpired between them, but he will not turn her in. And even if he did, he would be one in a hundred people who every day claim to have seen the royals. Unless he has the overlord to back him up, no one will believe him anytime soon.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t wait until the snake bites to kill it,¡± interjected Lattamore.


    Juganhouse took a deep breath. ¡°Let¡¯s think this through. First of all, how do you propose we kill a Rowowan overlord without drastic repercussions?¡±


    Kargas had a ready answer. ¡°Poison. He always eats breakfast and dinner at the hotel. We will poison his tea. We will use a fast-acting poison followed by a quick funeral with a rigged autopsy.¡± Kargas pointed at Juganhouse. ¡°Then you can send word of his death and condolences to the Rowowan Interior Ministry¡­along with a polite request for a new overlord as soon as possible. Knowing the Rowowans, the letter will get lost in the bureaucratic shuffle and it will be months before another overlord arrives.¡±


    Lattamore nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of the details.¡±


    Juganhouse still was not sure. ¡°I don¡¯t like this. It¡¯s too risky.¡±


    ¡°Better safe than sorry,¡± retorted Lattamore.


    Juganhouse took a deep breath. ¡°Adviser, may I speak freely?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°Is the overlord really a threat to the twins, or to your pride for what he did today?¡±


    Kargas remained silent for a minute before getting out of his chair, signaling an end to the meeting. ¡°Advisers do not have pride, Mayor Juganhouse.¡± He pointed at Lattamore. ¡°Find some widow¡¯s brew.¡±


    Lattamore acted with his usual efficiency by procuring the fast-acting, tasteless, and odorless poison within an hour. However, Kargas knew that getting the poison was not as difficult as administering it. Mrs. Wendig, the proprietress at the eponymous Wendig Hotel, was the obvious person to do so. When Kargas and Lattamore walked over to talk with her, they found a plump woman fussing at her maids. Kargas prided himself on his ability to judge and manipulate ¨C he preferred the term ¡°motivate¡± ¨C people. A few minutes of conversation not only revealed that the overlord invariably drank tea with his meals, but also that Mrs. Wendig possessed a desire to please, a subservience to authority, and an intense dislike of Rowowans for killing her brother in the war. On the other hand, she had grown fond of the overlord partly because he was so solicitous of her and partly because he provided a reliable revenue stream. Despite the risk, Kargas played his trump card by introducing himself as a royal adviser. Because advisers had an almost mythical status among the Allerian people, Mrs. Wendig¡¯s deference instantly went up a notch. Kargas carefully explained that the overlord had become a threat to Allerian authority on Kirkwell. That being the case, he needed her to place the powder in the overlord¡¯s tea at dinner that evening. Neither he nor Mrs. Wendig uttered the word ¡°poison,¡± but she knew exactly what he meant. She did not like it, but this was her chance to contribute to the war ¨C one that, as Juganhouse pointed out later, had been over for more than a year.


    Kargas and Lattamore went their separate ways after their discussion with Mrs. Wendig. Although Kargas cultivated an image of certainty, he was not positive that poisoning the overlord was the right thing to do. He had concluded, however, that Horace was a far more dangerous man than he initially appeared. He remained unsure of the extent of the overlord¡¯s power, but, having miscalculated once, he was not about to wait to find out.


    His anger toward the overlord increased when he saw the abandoned scaffolding as he crossed the town square. Suddenly he heard someone call out his name: ¡°Mr. Kargas.¡±


    Kargas stopped and saw the overlord sitting on a bench with an open book on his lap. ¡°Mr. Kargas, do you have a moment?¡±


    Kargas hesitated. He did not like Horace, and was squeamish about having a discussion with a man whose death he had just arranged. Besides, even though Kargas had seen plenty of wounded men, Horace¡¯s scarred face and eyepatch bothered him. At the same time, he recognized an opportunity to acquire information. ¡°What can I do for you, Major Oxenstera?¡±


    Horace closed his book. ¡°Have you ever heard of the Office of Advisers?¡±


    Kargas felt his adrenaline kick in. ¡°Of course I have.¡±


    Horace smiled. ¡°I¡¯ve read that the Office of Advisers contains Alleria¡¯s best and brightest people. They¡¯re experts in politics, geography, history, economics, strategy, and so forth. In fact, they are as a group probably the smartest people in the world.¡±


    Kargas stared at Horace and remained quiet.


    ¡°The thing about advisers,¡± Horace continued, ¡°is that they¡¯re trained in isolation. They¡¯re not really part of the society they purport to serve. They¡¯re just different from everyone else. They walk differently ¨C straight, always two steps behind and to the right of the person they¡¯re advising. They never cut corners. They talk differently ¨C they rarely use contractions. They even sit differently. Like they have a ramrod instead of a spine. Indeed, if you study them long enough, you can pick them out of a crowd the minute you enter a room ¨C or the city council chambers.¡±


    Kargas¡¯s heartrate increased dramatically. He felt a sudden urge to kick Horace. However, he kept cool and smiled. ¡°You sound more like a Rowowan agent than a supply officer.¡±


    Horace smiled back. ¡°I¡¯m glad we understand one another.¡± He paused to collect his thoughts. ¡°And since we understand each other, I¡¯m going to do you a favor by laying all my cards on the table.¡±


    Kargas tensed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.


    ¡°I know who you are, Adviser Kargas, and I know why you¡¯re here. I know that they are here.¡±


    Kargas felt his world shrink dramatically until it was just him and the overlord. He wondered if he should try to kill him right here and now. If so, how would he do it?


    Before Kargas could decide, Horace started talking again. ¡°As you undoubtedly know, there is no one Rowowan intelligence agency. That would be too simple and commonsensical. There are instead more than a dozen that compete and fight with each other as much as they competed and fought with Alleria. They disagree over everything from turf to policy. Now, one of their biggest arguments is over the royal twins. Some agencies want them hunted down, arrested, tried, and executed. Others just want them dead. Still others, though, believe that capturing or killing the royals wouldn¡¯t serve the empire¡¯s purposes. Doing so would turn them into symbols of resistance or, worse yet, martyrs. They would be white elephants. These agencies want them exiled from Alleria.¡±


    Horace stopped and scratched at his empty socket through his eyepatch. ¡°I miss my eye,¡± he said. Then he returned to business. ¡°Fortunately for you, I happen to work for one of the agencies that wants the royals exiled.¡±


    Horace stopped to let all his information sink in. When Kargas did not respond, he pushed on. ¡°However, I learned this morning that another agency, one with less benign intentions toward your royals, has somehow discovered their presence on Kirkwell. Those soldiers who were here today will soon return with reinforcements to apprehend them. I don¡¯t mean in a few days, I mean within the next twelve to twenty-four hours. So you need to activate whatever plan you have for this contingency and get them off the island at once.¡±


    Horace waited a few more seconds for Kargas to respond. ¡°Where¡¯s that adviser charm I heard all about?¡± he asked. ¡°I¡¯m going to spend the night sightseeing on the other side of the island, so I won¡¯t be around to get in anyone¡¯s way. Again, though, you need to move now.¡±


    As Horace got up and walked away, Kargas suddenly called out to him, ¡°Major Oxenstera! Do not drink tea at the hotel. I arranged with Mrs. Wendig to poison you.¡±


    Horace turned around. ¡°What? Really?¡± Kargas nodded. ¡°Unbelievable,¡± said Horace. ¡°Well, thanks for the warning, Mr. Kargas. Good luck.¡±


    Horace started walking away. After he had taken a few steps, though, he turned around again and hollered at Kargas. ¡°Oh, Mr. Kargas! Surely you know that Mr. Czezarchek did not kill that girl. Just as you surely know that your prince is a murderer. And surely you understand that you have a moral obligation to do something about his activities.¡±


    When Kargas failed to answer, Horace headed back to his hotel.

 12. The Battle

    Chapter Twelve


    THE BATTLE


    As soon as Horace disappeared across the street, Kargas hurried over to city hall to relate his conversation with the overlord to Juganhouse and Lattamore. All three agreed that they had no choice but to take Horace at his word. Besides, none could think of a good reason for him to lie. That being the case, they decided to evacuate the royal twins from the island immediately. Although Kargas had created a contingency plan for just such an occasion soon after he arrived on the island, implementing it proved maddening difficult. The boat that brought them to Kirkwell required refueling and provisioning, both of which took longer than expected. Iona packed her things with catatonic efficiency, but Rael was initially nowhere to be found. When Frederick finally located him at the house of one of his female friends, he was too inebriated to comprehend the gravity of the situation. By the time everyone gathered at the boat ¨C Kargas, Iona, Rael, Frederick, Lattamore, and Iona¡¯s servant girl Lana ¨C the sun was starting to set.


    As they boarded the boat, Juganhouse rushed down the jetty calling Kargas¡¯s name. He handed Kargas a set of binoculars and explained that Rowowan warships were surrounding the island. He and Kargas climbed to the roof of a nearby building to confirm the news. Indeed, Kargas saw a half dozen vessels stationed ominously up and down the coast. He rejected as too risky Juganhouse¡¯s suggestion that they depart under the cover of darkness. Thinking quickly, Kargas ordered Lattamore to drive the boat to a tiny cove on the island¡¯s western tip near Sorrel¡¯s Point after sunset. The rest of the party would hike overland to join him. He explained that from there it should be a simple matter for them to disappear into the foggy waters along the Heath¡¯s northern coast. The problem was that there might be Rowowan warships in the vicinity of the cove. Kargas understood that he needed a diversion to draw all the Rowowan vessels back to Kirkwell¡¯s harbor. There was only one way to do that. He turned to Juganhouse and said, ¡°Call out the home guard.¡±


    King Nathaniel I had established the home guard two centuries earlier. By law, all adult males were members. They were required to train periodically in the maintenance and use of weapons. The home guard¡¯s purpose was to repel invaders, maintain law and order, and assist in disaster relief. Unfortunately, the war had wrecked the home guard because the Allerian government had drafted so many of its members into the regular army. By the war¡¯s end, the home guard was a shell of its former self, containing a small number of mostly infirm, injured, and elderly men armed with antiquated weapons. Kirkwell¡¯s home guard, though, was the exception. With his usual foresight, Kargas had before the Siege of Aurora persuaded the army¡¯s high command to demobilize the Kirkwell battalion and send its soldiers home with their weapons. As a result, Kirkwell¡¯s home guard contained well-equipped, well-organized, well-trained, and battle-hardened men who could protect the royal twins. Kargas¡¯s impromptu plan called for the island¡¯s home guard to fight Rowowan forces coming ashore to seize Rael and Iona. Doing so would hopefully draw off Rowowan vessels on the island¡¯s western shore so the royals could escape in that direction. Kargas hated to ask men who had already given so much to their kingdom to put themselves in harm¡¯s way again, but he could think of no other way to safely evacuate the royal twins.


    The party hurried back to city hall, from where Kargas and Juganhouse barked a rapid series of orders. Within minutes church bells throughout the city began ringing to summon the home guard. Men in uniforms and helmets carrying rifles, machine guns, and ammunition soon filled the council chambers. Fitzgerald Hollander was among the first to arrive. Although Hollander had been a lowly bank clerk at the war¡¯s start, he rose through the ranks to lead the Kirkwell battalion in the conflict¡¯s last year. For that reason Juganhouse had appointed him commander of the island¡¯s home guard. Juganhouse introduced him to Kargas, who briefly explained the situation and plan. Hollander looked sharply at Rael and Iona, huddled in chairs near the wall, but did not speak to them. Nor did he show Kargas any particular deference. Indeed, the war had taught Hollander that respect must be earned, not assumed. He did not want to unconditionally commit himself and his men to a design that would undoubtedly kill people.


    After Kargas finished talking, Hollander said, ¡°Adviser, I don¡¯t know you. I¡¯m not about to order or force anyone here to take up arms in a war that¡¯s over on your say so. However, I want Allerian independence as much as anyone.¡± He pointed at Rael and exclaimed, ¡°If he can persuade these men to fight, then I¡¯ll lead them in this battle.¡±


    If anyone was going to rally the home guard to fight, Kargas felt, it should be him. After all, he had a knack for persuasion honed by years of government service. Unfortunately, Hollander¡¯s comments made this impossible. All eyes turned to Rael, still seated in his chair. Although Rael had by then sobered up, his eyes were still red and his gait unsteady. Nevertheless, he pushed himself out of his chair and nervously approached the podium in the front of the room. Everyone fell silent as he gathered his thoughts for what was obviously the most important speech in his life.


    Rael gripped the podium, blinked hard several times, and stared straight ahead. ¡°My name is Prince Rael. I am the son of King Bartholomew and rightful heir to his throne. My sister Iona and I have been on this island for several months. We have been waiting for the right moment to emerge and lead our people to independence. The Rowowans have discovered our whereabouts, so we must leave Kirkwell and bide our time elsewhere. You have all sworn an oath to support and protect the royal family. I now call upon you to fulfill that oath by resisting the Rowowan soldiers who will undoubtedly land at dawn so we can escape. I am confident that you will live up to your obligations, as you always have.¡±


    It was not a terrible speech, thought Kargas. The problem was not so much its content as its delivery. Rael confused entitlement and haughtiness with command presence and authority, and it showed in his demeanor. The crowd obviously felt the same way. Although everyone was curious about Rael and Iona, no one responded to his appeal. Instead, the clanging of equipment, shuffling of boots, and coughs punctured the long silence. Rael turned and looked plaintively at Kargas and Hollander.


    Iona had spent the past twenty-four hours in a daze. Her last conversation with Royo, her ensuing sexual trauma, Royo¡¯s unexpected reprieve, and word that the Rowowans had located her and her brother had emotionally shattered her. Indeed, she felt as if her life had been emptied out of her body, leaving the husk behind. Now, as she listened to her brother plead for support, it occurred to her that for all the supposed power and influence she possessed as a princess, she had always been like a cork floating in the sea of life, buffeted by the waves, winds, and current. She realized that acting like a princess was not the same as being one. Before she knew it, she found herself getting out of her chair, walking to the podium, and edging her brother aside.


    Considering her looks and regal bearing, it was hardly surprising that all eyes in the room quickly fell on Iona. As she scrutinized her audience, Iona felt humbled by the sacrifices these men had made. She channeled that humility into her extemporaneous speech. ¡°My name,¡± she said, ¡°is Princess Iona. My brother and I represent the kingdom, but you all are the kingdom. For ten years you sacrificed for us and our kingdom. You sacrificed your time and energy. You sacrificed your resources. And in all too many instances, you sacrificed your lives. My brother and I will always be in your debt for doing so.


    ¡°I therefore hesitate to ask one more sacrifice of you. As you all know, the Rowowans will land tomorrow morning. They want to capture my brother and me and parade us through their capital like caged animals. If they succeed, it will end our hopes of regaining our independence and freedom. It will be the end of Alleria as we understand it. On the other hand, if we escape, that dream will live on because we will live on to represent it and cherish it. We will hold it in trust for you. We will sacrifice for you. We might not realize the dream tomorrow or the next day, but it will remain alive for our children and grandchildren. If this happens, your sacrifices will not have been in vain. Will you fight, one last time, for your prince?¡±


    Iona felt the sweat trickle down the small of her back. She looked around at the home guardsmen, almost willing them to commit to the cause. One by one, men walked forward and stood beside the podium next to her. Within minutes, all three hundred home guardsmen packed in the room had pledged themselves to put their lives on the line so the royal twins could escape. Iona wondered what to say, but settled on a simple, ¡°Thank you.¡±


    As the royal party left the room, Hollander saluted them before issuing a stream of orders. Soon soldiers were deploying in and around the docks in culverts, buildings, ditches, and walls. They established fields of fire, tied in their flanks, and checked their ammunition. When they saw Iona watching them, they rose and removed their hats and helmets. Iona felt a surge of pride and power as she walked through and out of the town with Rael, Kargas, and Frederick in tow.


    While Iona was rallying the home guard, Horace was returning to Peter Manheim¡¯s inn near Scrogwell¡¯s Point after a long day of hiking across the wild western part of the island. Although he appreciated the opportunity to familiarize himself with the area¡¯s flora and fauna, the main reason for his trip was to get out of the way so Kargas could implement unhindered whatever plans he had for evacuating the royal twins. His absence would also provide him with some plausible deniability whenever whichever intelligence agency that uncovered the royals¡¯ whereabouts criticized him for not locating them and preventing their escape. He did not know where Kargas planned to take Rael and Iona. Nor, really, did he care. He instead hoped that their departure would persuade his superiors that his services were no longer ¡°invaluable¡± and permit him to return home to resume his life.


    Hating the war came easily for Horace. It had not only taken him away from everything and everyone he held dear, but it had also systematically destroyed some of those things in his absence. Because he had not been home in years, he did not know the extent of that destruction or have an opportunity to repair it. Eventually he learned to let go of his fears and concerns about that other life, in part by simply assuming that it was all gone. As he drifted off to sleep, though, he thought that he might soon be home. Home, with its familiar odors, tastes, and sounds all connected with his past. Indeed, he could almost smell autumn¡¯s burning leaves, taste the coffee cake, and hear the nasal twang of his friends and neighbors.


    The sounds of distant machine gun and rifle fire startled Horace awake early next morning. It had been months since he had heard such noises, but time had done nothing to dim the fear he invariably felt under such occasions. He lay in bed for a few seconds until he pieced it together: Kirkwellians were resisting the Rowowan army¡¯s arrival. Horace had not expected that. Horrified by the thought of a bloodbath, Horace dressed as quickly as possible and ran out of the room. As he did so, he saw Peter Mannheim suddenly stand up from his chair, position himself between Horace and the front door, and point a shotgun directly at him.


    Horace stopped immediately and threw up his hands. ¡°What the hell, Peter?¡± he yelled. ¡°Get out of my way!¡±


    Peter pumped the shotgun. ¡°No, sir. Mr. Lattamore sent word for me to keep you in this inn until noon, and to kill you if you try to escape.¡±


    Horace was confused. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, overlord, but orders is orders.¡±


    Horace briefly weighed his options. He could wait until Peter let his guard down and try to overpower him. Doing so, however, required a strength and courage he did not have. He had no intention of dying on this particular hill. He instead resorted to logic.


    ¡°Look Peter,¡± he said. ¡°If you let me go I might be able to stop the fighting. Otherwise dozens may die.¡±


    Peter held up his hand. ¡°You can give me all the reasons you want as to why I should let you go, even good ones, but it ain¡¯t going to change anything. I have my orders. Now take a seat and eat breakfast.¡±


    Horace sat down and tried to be pleasant while Mrs. Mannheim fed him hotcakes. After he finished his breakfast, he retrieved a book and tried to read it while Peter glowered at him from behind his shotgun. Horace periodically got up and peered out the window to gauge the battle¡¯s progress by its sound, even though Peter tensed and glared at him as he did so. Horace was especially alarmed by the retort of the six-inch guns from the light cruiser offshore that indicated fierce fighting. Horace remembered that patience was a virtue, especially in his line of work, but it was not an easy lesson. For several hours he cooled his heels in the Mannheim living room. The fighting finally stopped at around eleven o¡¯clock. An agonizing hour later, Peter took out his pocket watch, looked at it for a long moment, and said, ¡°You¡¯re free to go, overlord. I hope you¡¯ll visit us again if you¡¯re on this side of the island. We appreciate your patronage.¡±


    Horace did not bother to reply, but instead bolted out of the inn and down the road. After a couple hundred yards, though, he slowed to a trot to catch his breath. The city was two miles away, much of it uphill, so it took him a half hour to get there. He became more cautious as he approached the outskirts because he did not want some trigger-happy soldier on either side shooting him. Although Kirkwell appeared deserted, he put his hands in the air anyway as he warily walked down the main street until two Rowowan soldiers appeared.


    ¡°Don¡¯t shoot!¡± Horace yelled. ¡°I¡¯m unarmed.¡±


    The two soldiers eyed him suspiciously. After looking around, they ordered him to approach. One of the soldiers frisked him, removed his wallet, and pocketed the cash. When Horace protested, the other soldier hit him hard in his stomach with his rifle butt and told him to shut up.


    Horace fell to the ground, gasping for air. ¡°I¡¯m Rowowan, you assholes. I¡¯m the town overlord. Take me to your commanding officer.¡±


    One of the soldiers laughed and said, ¡°The hell you are.¡±


    Before Horace could reply, a sergeant appeared to investigate the hubbub. Although dubious of Horace¡¯s story, he ordered the two soldiers to escort him to battalion headquarters.


    Horace felt the tension drain out of him as he climbed to his feet. He had spent years operating in Rowowan-occupied Allerian towns, so he knew how things worked. As he and his guards walked down the street he noticed plenty of Rowowan troops about, but no civilians or home guardsmen. The closer they got to the downtown and docks, the more extensive the destruction became. In fact, there was rubble everywhere: bricks, wood, stones, and glass scattered on the streets, yards, porches and patios, and roofs. Familiar buildings and shops were now blasted shells. The lot by Wallace McWoodsen¡¯s blacksmith shop contained about sixty corpses divided into two groups, one Rowowan and the other Kirkwellian. The Rowowans had already covered up their dead, but the Kirkwellians remained exposed. Horace stopped to look at them. He saw Deputy Braxton with his eyes wide open and a bullet hole in his forehead. Little Billy Nunn, the young marksman who had cost Horace a great deal of money, was five feet away, or at least most of him was. Horace had of course seen plenty of dead bodies over the past eight years, including more friends than he cared to remember, but these were particularly upsetting because the war was supposed to be over. Moreover, as overlord he felt a proprietary bond with the town¡¯s citizens. Before he could process these emotions, though, one of the Rowowan soldiers pushed him hard in the back and told him to keep moving.


    After picking their way through the debris, they finally reached the Rowowan battalion¡¯s headquarters at city hall. There Horace saw an old colleague, Captain Louis Decker, standing out front smoking a cigarette and watching soldiers conduct house-to-house searches.


    ¡°Hello, Louis,¡± Horace said.


    Decker took a long last drag of his cigarette, flicked it to the ground, and stepped on it with his boot. ¡°Hello, Horace. We figured we would find your body in all this rubble.¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± Horace responded. ¡°Is he here? Can I see him?¡±


    Decker stretched his arms over his head. ¡°Sure, follow me.¡± He ordered the two soldiers who had brought Horace there to remain behind. He and Horace entered the building and made their way down the hallway. As they walked, Decker said, ¡°By the way, our favorite mailman is here too.¡±


    The battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Myron Kean, had established his headquarters in the city council chambers. He was a short, peppery, and bandy-legged man with a long combat record who had been Horace¡¯s friend for years. When he saw Horace, though, he grunted a restrained hello.


    ¡°So what happened?¡± asked Horace.


    Kean did not offer Horace a seat. ¡°A few days ago we received word that the royal family was on Kirkwell. General Mancusso decided to go in in force, so he ordered the battalion concentrated at Rahway for a surprise attack. We figured that there would be some opposition, but not the kind we encountered. We didn¡¯t expect the island¡¯s home guard to have machine guns. It took us all morning to overcome them, and cost us thirty dead and ninety wounded. Seems like that is the kind of thing about which the island¡¯s overlord should have warned us.¡±


    Horace now understood the chilly welcome. ¡°Well, I¡¯m sorry about that, but I had my orders too. If you don¡¯t like them, take it up with General Embry, not with me.¡±


    Horace was so rattled by Kean¡¯s hostility that he did not notice the beady-eyed man standing nearby. Walter Lowenbraugh was Horace¡¯s counterpart in the Rowowan Post Office Security Force. When the Post Office unexpectedly secured the imperial council¡¯s approval to create its own information gathering arm early in the war, the members of Rowowa¡¯s other intelligence agencies initially greeted the news with mirth and derision. Since then, though, postal security had become one of the most ruthless and brutal parts of the Rowowan government. Its success was due to cold-blooded men like Lowenbraugh. Although Horace tried with varying degrees of success to maintain a professional relationship with Lowenbraugh, he disapproved of his duplicitous and vicious methods. Indeed, he was the only man Horace had ever met who was truly shifty-eyed.


    Lowenbraugh extended his hand in an unconvincing gesture of goodwill. ¡°How is it that a well-trained and loyal agent such as yourself was unable to uncover the presence of the royal twins on Kirkwell Island?¡± he asked.


    Fortunately for Horace, he could fall back on a long track record of success for protection, though he preferred to leave it implied. ¡°Well,¡± he said blandly, ¡°I guess I¡¯m just not as smart and successful as you.¡±


    Lowenbraugh smiled. ¡°This won¡¯t look good to the imperial council. They will want to know whether to blame your actions on incompetence or disloyalty.¡±


    Kean interrupted. ¡°Okay, enough. Put your pricks away.¡±


    Lowenbraugh redirected his plastic smile to Kean. ¡°My apologies, colonel. With your permission, I¡¯ll return to Rahway. I¡¯m sure the royals escaped, but they can¡¯t run forever.¡±


    As Lowenbraugh turned to leave, Horace¡¯s curiosity got the better of him. ¡°Hey, Lowenbraugh. How did you guys learn that they were here?¡±


    As Horace expected, Lowenbraugh could not refrain from bragging. ¡°An agent informed us.¡±


    ¡°Was it Royo di Czezarchek?¡±Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°Yes,¡± responded Lowenbraugh.


    Horace rolled his eyes. ¡°He¡¯s not really your agent, is he? Did you just intercept his mail?¡±


    Lowenbraugh arched his eyebrows. ¡°How we got the information won¡¯t matter to anyone back at the capital. The point is that we located the royal twins hiding right under your nose.¡±


    After Horace and Kean watched Lowenbraugh leave the chambers, Kean asked, ¡°Did you know they were here?


    ¡°Officially or unofficially?¡± Horace responded.


    ¡°Oh, first officially.¡±


    ¡°Of course not,¡± Horace deadpanned.


    ¡°Unofficially.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Horace said.


    Kean scowled. ¡°More interagency bullshit. The problem is that my soldiers got caught in the middle of it.¡±


    Horace nodded. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about the loss of life. Working at cross-purposes makes things difficult for everyone.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± said Kean, ¡°it¡¯s not surprising. The imperial council is a mess. It¡¯s so paralyzed that it can¡¯t make timely decisions. One half of it spends all its time accusing the other half of collaboration with the Allerians. Even though the war is over.¡±


    Horace suddenly changed the subject. ¡°What are you going to do with all the home guardsmen you captured here?¡±


    ¡°What else? We¡¯ll ship them back to the mainland and try them. They¡¯ll probably end up breaking rocks in the tundra.¡±


    ¡°Whose decision is it?¡± Horace asked.


    ¡°Mine, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t do it,¡± Horace said. ¡°These are law-abiding people no more predisposed against Rowowa than anyone else.¡±


    ¡°I have thirty dead soldiers who would say differently,¡± Kean responded. ¡°And now they¡¯ll pay for it as an example to other Allerians resisting the imposition of Rowowan authority.¡±


    Horace persisted. ¡°But these weren¡¯t ordinary circumstances. They weren¡¯t guerrillas fighting in the hills to kill and be killed. They fought for a specific reason, out in the open, and now they¡¯re done.¡±


    Kean¡¯s temper flared. ¡°And now we¡¯ll punish them for it.¡±


    Horace tried another tack. ¡°Remember that these people are now legally members of the Rowowan empire. That means that they have certain rights. Do you know how much paperwork trying them will entail? And as the commanding officer in this operation, much of it will fall on your shoulders. Sure, your staff can write the reports, but you will have to testify. That will become your life. How will it help your career?¡±


    Kean scratched his chin. ¡°Yeah, I hadn¡¯t thought of that. But there must be some accountability for what they did.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t they just admit their wrongdoing and promise to behave in the future?¡± Horace asked.


    Kean looked out the shattered window. ¡°Okay, if you get them to admit that they took up arms against Rowowa and swear an oath to the empire, I won¡¯t bring them to trial.¡± He paused. ¡°Except for one of them. One guy shot one of our soldiers after he raised a white flag. I¡¯ll testify as often as necessary to see him rot.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Horace said. ¡°Also, do you mind if I look after their medical needs¡­get them food, water, and so forth?¡±


    Kean looked sharply at Horace. ¡°No, that¡¯s fine. Since when do you care so much about the fucking Allerians?¡±


    Horace shrugged. ¡°The war¡¯s over. I want my actions to reflect that.¡±


    Horace took Kean¡¯s shuffling of papers as a sign to leave, so he saluted and departed. Captain Decker was standing outside the building, smoking another cigarette and looking pensive.


    ¡°Captain,¡± Horace said, ¡°the colonel gave me permission to help the prisoners. Please make sure your men don¡¯t shoot me while I¡¯m walking up and down the street.¡±


    Decker detailed one of his soldiers to accompany Horace. After Horace thanked him, he noticed that the soldier who had escorted him to headquarters ¨C the one who had butted him in the stomach with his rifle ¨C was standing nearby. Horace walked over to him and punched him in the face, knocking him sprawling to the ground.


    ¡°What the hell, Horace?¡± yelled Decker.


    Horace turned to Decker. ¡°And tell your men to respect the local population.¡±


    Horace summoned his escort and walked across the street to an enclosed yard next to a livery that the Rowowans had converted into a detention center for the home guardsmen captured in the morning¡¯s battle. Despite its small size, there were more than two hundred men confined there, including several dozen wounded awaiting treatment. When the home guardsmen saw Horace climb onto a nearby crate, they crowded around the barbed wire fence the Rowowans had strung up and cursed him.


    ¡°Listen to me!¡± Horace yelled. After the crowd fell silent, he continued. ¡°The Rowowan commander has given me permission to assist in attending to your medical needs. Where are the doctors? Doctor Wesley? Doctor Morrison? Please come up here.¡± As they threaded their way to the front, Horace called for more help. ¡°Does anyone else have medical experience? Mr. Hollins, weren¡¯t you a medic? Please come up here too.¡±


    Horace huddled with the three men after they stepped through the barbed wire. He recommended that they establish an aid station in the Apostolic Church two doors down. When Doctor Wesley asked about the equipment, medicines, and instruments they needed, Morrison suggested that Horace fetch his nurse, Ethyl Craddock, who lived nearby, and that the two of them go to his office to gather all the materials they needed.


    Horace realized that they required help moving all this paraphernalia, so he recruited a boy he spotted gawking at them from behind a door. When Captain Decker saw this, he called out to Horace, ¡°Hey, Horace, did you shoot his dad, too?¡±


    Ignoring Decker, Horace and his companions trotted down the street to Ethyl Craddock¡¯s small cottage and knocked on her door. Ethyl was a small, mousy woman, but she understood immediately what needed to be done. While Horace waited for Ethyl to gather her things, Ethyl¡¯s sister Norma suddenly appeared in the foyer. Before Horace could react, she slapped him hard across the face and called him a son-of-a-bitch. Horace pushed her hard into the wall with his arm against her throat to prevent her from hitting him again.


    ¡°What the hell is wrong with you?¡± he yelled.


    ¡°You Rowowan bastard!¡± she screamed, gesturing out the window at the surrounding destruction. ¡°Look what you did! I hope we kill every one of you!¡±


    Horace exerted more pressure on her throat. ¡°I¡¯m trying to help.¡±


    Horace let go of her when Ethyl appeared. The three stood in awkward silence until Ethyl pulled Horace out the door. As they left, Norma hissed at him, ¡°You¡¯ll get yours, overlord.¡± Horace ignored her and focused on the task at hand. He spent the rest of the afternoon and evening locating and shuttling medical supplies, equipment, and instruments to the impromptu aid station at the church. When all the wounded had been taken care of, he turned his attention to the remaining captives. He scurried about to secure them food and drink before bedding down for the night on the floor of city hall.


    Horace woke early next morning. As he laced on his boots, it occurred to him that often life¡¯s big events are packed into a short time frame, sometimes a mere day or two. Forty-eight hours earlier, he had risen with the dawn to greet a company of soldiers at the docks who he had summoned with a kite to prevent Royo¡¯s execution. Now, two days later, much of the downtown was rubble and debris, and Royo was gone. So were the royals who had set into motion this chain of events. He was still thinking on it a half hour later when he and Colonel Kean walked over to the yard containing the captive home guardsmen. They were milling about waiting for their breakfasts. Upon receiving Kean¡¯s nod, Horace climbed up on the crate and called for their attention.


    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± he called. When they gathered around the front of the yard next to the barbed wire, he continued. ¡°Here are the facts. You all took up arms against the Rowowan empire yesterday, and are therefore subject to arrest and trial for treason. If found guilty, you will undoubtedly spend years working in the gold mines in the tundra.¡±


    Horace paused to let that information sink in. ¡°However, Colonel Kean here has decided that the empire will not prosecute you if you confess to your crime and swear an oath to obey the laws of the Rowowan empire. Once you do so, you can go home. Do you have any questions?¡±


    Preacher Leo Sellford hobbled forward, using a stick as a crutch, and raised his hand. ¡°What about Leonard Walker?¡±


    Horace looked at Kean, who shook his head. ¡°Mr. Walker is the one exception,¡± Horace explained. ¡°He fired on Rowowan soldiers after he surrendered, severely wounding a man.¡±


    There were no other hands in the air. ¡°Okay,¡± said Horace. ¡°We¡¯ll get started shortly.¡±


    A few minutes later Horace, Captain Decker, and a clerk gathered in Juganhouse¡¯s office to wait for Rowowan soldiers to bring the home guardsmen in one by one. Horace asked each one under oath if he had taken up arms against the Rowowan empire. Not surprisingly, all admitted their guilt. Upon saying yes, he directed them to sign a document attesting to the fact and pledging to obey Rowowan law from now on. For most it was as simple at that, and they were back with their families within the hour in what was left of their homes.


    However, Horace kept several others for more detailed questioning. He wanted to use the opportunity to ferret out as much information as possible about Anna Mullins¡¯s murder. He figured that if he could not arrest Prince Rael for homicide, then he could at least build a record to help someone else bring him to justice someday. Moreover, he recognized that he possessed the necessary skills to elicit the truth. Horace had interrogated enough people during the war to know that it was more an art than a science. Unlike his post office colleagues, he believed that torture and physical intimidation were of little use in extracting useful information. He instead relied on ego. Horace always feigned boredom and routine at the start of every interview. Because no one wanted to be considered monotonous, to show their importance they often divulged material they would not otherwise have volunteered in response to Horace¡¯s matter-of-fact questions.


    In Juganhouse¡¯s office, though, such skills were hardly necessary. Everyone was talking about the royal twins and the battle their departure had provoked, and now that the fighting was over and they had escaped, attaining information was simply a matter of asking the right people the right questions. Because Kargas had ordered Lattamore to shut down his investigation into Anna Mullins¡¯s murder as soon as Lattamore located the two girls who claimed to have seen Royo around her house, there were many people with pertinent information who the police failed to interview. As a result, Horace quickly learned that the two girls who identified Royo were so inebriated that night that they could barely stand. He also developed a rough timeline of Rael¡¯s activities that included two unaccounted for hours. Finally, and most importantly, a local fisherman who survived the battle insisted that he saw someone matching Rael¡¯s description talking with Anna Mullins outside of the Mermaid on the night of her murder. Horace had the clerk transcribe all this material and ordered Captain Decker to send a copy to army intelligence as soon as he returned to the mainland.


    Three days later, the Rowowan battalion marched down to the waterfront and embarked for the mainland with Leonard Walker in tow. Horace was there, but as a spectator, not a participant. He had hoped that army intelligence would recall him to Aurora, but no such directive had arrived.


    ¡°You really ought to come with us,¡± said Captain Decker as he and Horace watched the soldiers trudge onboard the transports. ¡°If you remain behind, these folks will surely kill you the first chance they get. If you think they hated the Rowowans before¡­.¡±


    Horace sighed. ¡°I haven¡¯t gotten orders to do so. If I go, they might postpone my discharge, and I¡¯ll end up overlording Allerian towns forever.¡±


    ¡°Suit yourself.¡± Decker watched his last soldier embark, then jumped over to the transport. As the vessel pulled away from the dock, he hollered at Horace, ¡°Someone will return for your corpse!¡±


    Donald Ollenright ambled over to Horace. He had been wounded in the battle and could only get around with a crutch, but that had not prevented him from visiting the waterfront to watch the soldiers depart. ¡°What¡¯s he talking about?¡± he asked as Decker¡¯s boat motored away.


    ¡°Well,¡± said Horace, ¡°he thinks you all will kill me at the first opportunity.¡±


    Ollenright adjusted his crutch to turn to face Horace. ¡°Overlord, if it was up to me, I would kill you right now. If you had stayed away from this island, none of this would have happened.¡±


    Horace continued looking at the sea. ¡°Don¡¯t sugarcoat it, Mr. Ollenright. Tell me what you really think.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you, overlord.¡±


    The two men stood in silence for several minutes. Finally, Horace asked, ¡°How is your foot?¡±


    ¡°It hurts,¡± Ollenright replied.


    ¡°I understand you got through the entire war without an injury.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Horace glanced at Ollenright¡¯s foot. ¡°Kind of ironic that you got wounded in battle after the war was over.¡±


    The expression on Ollenright¡¯s face changed. ¡°Actually, it isn¡¯t really a battle injury. I dropped a cinderblock on it before the first Rowowan boat hit the beach.¡±


    Horace laughed. ¡°Now that¡¯s funny. Well, I got my first wound because I got drunk and wandered into our own minefield.¡±


    Ollenright grunted. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you bastards won the war.¡±


    After a couple more minutes of ocean-gazing, Horace walked back into town.


    As Horace trudged up the hill, he felt depression settle on him like an impenetrable fog. It seemed to him that his superiors had decided to let him rot on this remote island. He wondered if they intended to keep him here for weeks, months¡­years. And of course there was no guarantee that he would live that long. As Ollenright demonstrated, a good many of the locals blamed him for the battle that had destroyed part of the city and killed their family and friends. Now that the royals were gone, he could no longer count on police protection. Although he appreciated the irony of waging a war after it was over, it did not erase the resentment, bitterness, and anger he felt about his situation. He was tired ¨C tired of the duplicity, intrigue, bureaucracy, and bloodshed that had been part and parcel of his life for the past eight years. The simple truth was that he wanted to go home. He knew that there was not much there for him, but it was still home.


    Returning to his hotel for the first time since the battle, Horace found a hostile Mrs. Wendig and a wrecked room. Fortunately for Horace, his few possessions were scattered, but otherwise undamaged. He retrieved a broom and swept away as much of the debris and glass as he could. When he finished, he located one of his books, sat on the floor, and read it until he heard the Royal Church¡¯s bells announce the beginning of a memorial for those home guardsmen who had died in the battle. He waited until the service was well under way to slip in unnoticed and took a seat in the back of the packed sanctuary. Reverend McCormick preached on sacrifice. He said that God appreciated and honored suffering even if He did not explain the reasons behind it. Although the reverend aimed his message at those who had lost loved ones earlier in the week, Horace took comfort in applying it to his own life. He departed before the ceremony ended, ate a late lunch at an undamaged diner on the outskirts of town, and took a long walk along the shoreline. On his way back to town, though, he became increasingly convinced that some aggrieved townsmen would kill him sooner rather than later ¨C it was simply a matter of when. This realization, as well as the stress of the last few days and his long walk, exhausted him. When he returned to what was left of his hotel room, he placed a blanket on the floor and fell asleep.


    It was dark outside when Horace woke up. Because the electricity was not working, Horace sat on the floor in the dark and thought about the emotional costs of constantly looking over his shoulder for the remainder of his tenure on the island. He concluded that the stress would kill him long before a Kirkwellian did. After a while he got up, put on his jacket, and walked over to the Scrapyard. Although the bar had been damaged in the battle, its owner had restored electricity, cleared away the debris and glass, and reopened for business. His resourcefulness lured in a large number of people looking to enjoy modern amenities. The crowd became quiet when Horace entered, ordered whiskey at the bar, and parked himself at the first open table. He forewent his usual practice of sitting with his back to the wall. Horace nursed his drink until he sensed someone approaching behind him. He shut his eyes, took a deep breath, commended his soul to God, and waited.


    Instead of a bullet in the back of his head, Horace felt an arm on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Reverend Leo Sellford standing behind him.


    ¡°Hello, overlord,¡± Sellford said. ¡°Do you mind if I have a seat?¡±


    ¡°No, no, of course,¡± Horace responded as he felt his heart rate settle.


    Sellford sat down and beckoned a bartender for another drink. ¡°I want you to know that a lot of us noticed what you did to help this town after the battle, and we appreciate it.¡± He paused as the bartender brought his beer over. ¡°Because you¡¯re Rowowan, it¡¯s easy for people to take their hatred of the empire out on you, so don¡¯t take it personally.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± said Horace. ¡°I thought that someone would kill me here tonight.¡±


    ¡°Then why did you come here?¡± Sellford asked.


    Horace held up his whiskey.


    Sellford guffawed. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think you need to worry about that. Someone might punch you, but I promise no one will kill you.¡±


    Horace was relieved, but he still felt anxious for reasons of which he was unsure. He tried to explain to Sellford. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect the battle to happen. I figured Kargas would escape with the royals before the soldiers landed. Maybe I should have foreseen that he would deploy the home guardsmen. I should have tried to prevent it.¡±


    Sellford sipped his beer. ¡°I don¡¯t know you very well, overlord. But I know enough to realize that you¡¯re more important than you let on. It¡¯s my experience that important people often feel that they have more control over events than is actually the case. You and I ¨C and Mr. Kargas ¨C were just flawed cogs in this particularly unfortunate wheel. It took a lot of mistakes by a lot of people, including myself, to make the battle possible. Accepting responsibility for everything that happened is just plain egotistical.¡±


    Horace thought it over for a minute. ¡°During the war I did some awful things. But I could always rationalize them by telling myself that all is fair in war, or that they were necessary to win the war and protect our men. Now that the war is over, though, I¡¯m ashamed of my actions. Looking back, I don¡¯t know what else I could have done. I mean, someone was usually going to die no matter what decision I made. I feel like God put me in one awful conundrum after another for eight years. Should I ask for forgiveness for no win situations? Would He even grant it?¡±


    Sellford cocked his head. ¡°Yes and yes.¡±


    ¡°Well, you don¡¯t know some of the things I did,¡± Horace said.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± replied Sellford. ¡°All that matters is that you ask for it.¡±


    Horace sighed. ¡°I hope you¡¯re right.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t mean to change the subject, but, speaking of forgiveness, is there anything you can do for Leonard Walker?¡±


    Horace shrugged. ¡°Unpleasant man. No, not really. I don¡¯t have much influence over such things. Besides, he shot a Rowowan soldier after he surrendered.¡±


    Sellford nodded. ¡°But he also has a wife and children.¡±


    Horace scratched his eyepatch. ¡°Remember that the Rowowan empire is highly bureaucratic. Those in power like everything according to the rules, even if the rules don¡¯t make sense. They get nervous with anything out of the ordinary. Best thing you all can do is hire a lawyer for Mr. Walker in Emerald City, and have the lawyer point out everything anomalous about this situation. Prosecutors might go easy on him because they don¡¯t want to deal with something this unique.¡±


    Sellford thanked him, then asked, ¡°How long do you plan to stay on the island?¡±


    Horace shrugged. ¡°Don¡¯t know. Until my bosses relieve me, I guess. I don¡¯t know when that will be. I want to go home.¡±


    Sellford got up. ¡°Well, I have to get home to the wife. To what¡¯s left of my home, that is. If you want my advice, overlord, you should use your remaining time here to get ready for civilian life. Read your books and take your walks. Get reacquainted with God. Whatever you want.¡±


    Taking Sellford¡¯s advice did not require Horace to significantly change his daily routine. As the preacher recommended, Horace continued walking and reading, attending church, and interacting with a wide range of people throughout the island¡¯s community. Indeed, he made it his business to go to one event each evening. To his great relief, the locals treated him kindly. Several even offered him jobs if he decided to settle permanently on the island after the Rowowan army demobilized him. He ignored the interior ministry¡¯s weekly letters promulgating new rules and demanding data he was unwilling or unable to provide. All this activity prevented him from dwelling on the circumstances that had brought him to Kirkwell. However, the night invariably brought out demons who tortured his soul. As he lay in bed trying to sleep, he repeatedly replayed in his mind all those actions in the war he regretted, as if doing so would somehow change the outcome. His gnawing guilt metastasized into bitterness, resentment, and depression that he did his best to hide. He felt trapped on Kirkwell, and longed to return home to wrap up his old life and start a new one. Then one morning, about three months after the royals fled the island, Horace opened his weekly package from the interior ministry and discovered at the end of the usual sheaf of documents a single unattached sheet of paper containing one typewritten word: Wonderful. Army intelligence had finally called Horace home.


    The emotions and attention that accompanied goodbyes made Horace uncomfortable. Although he had become fond of many Kirkwellians, he hoped to avoid any farewell parties. The morning after he received the coded message from army intelligence, he rose before first light, packed his few belongings in his duffel bag, and slipped unnoticed out of the hotel. He walked down to the jetty from where Milo Jennings ferried people across the channel to and from Fillipin.


    Although a fair number of mainlanders worked on the island, there were not many job opportunities for Kirkwellians in squalid little Fillipin. As a result, Horace was the only person there. Milo took Horace¡¯s money and asked, ¡°Why are you going to the mainland, overlord?¡±


    Horace thought about telling him to mind his own business, but knew that would offend Milo, and he did not want to end his mission on a sour note. ¡°I¡¯m going back to Aurora.¡±


    ¡°For good?¡±


    Horace had been so intent on avoiding maudlin goodbyes that he had forgotten that he would never return to the island. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said. ¡°For good.¡±


    After returning to his nearby house to retrieve his keys, Milo started the boat¡¯s engine and pulled away from the jetty. ¡°Overlord,¡± Milo said, ¡°Do you mind if we go up the coast a bit to fetch Lee Dunfor first?¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Horace replied. He thought a moment and asked, ¡°Why can¡¯t Lee Dunfor walk down here?¡±


    ¡°He usually does, but not when his knee acts up. Old war injury.¡±


    Lee Dunfor was in his late twenties, and the fact that someone so young had bad knees was just another reminder of the war¡¯s costs. Horace pushed the sad realization out of his mind and thought about home. If he was lucky, he might be back in Ippolacia in a week. After a half hour of watching the boat fight its way up the island¡¯s east coast against the strong choppy current, though, Horace wondered if he would even reach the mainland by then. The unexpected delay made Horace anxious, but he tried to remember that his timetable was self-imposed. Finally, Milo reached a small dock, tied up the boat, and walked up to Lee Dunfor¡¯s house. The two men did not emerge for another twenty minutes. Lee held onto Milo as the two men slowly made their way down to the dock.


    ¡°Sorry for the delay, overlord,¡± Milo said as he helped Lee into the boat.  "I had to make a quick phone call while Lee found his jacket."


    ¡°Me too,¡± Lee added. ¡°Although for all I know you were the one who put that bullet through my knees, in which case it serves you right to wait.¡±


    Once again the boat coughed to life and slowly distanced itself from the dock. As the boat motored around the cove, the seawall on the island¡¯s southeasternmost point came into view. Horace noticed a small but growing crowd lining it. He wondered why so many people had gathered on such a chilly morning. More and more bodies joined the crowd until they completely filled the seawall. When the boat came by, everyone removed their hats in a silent gesture of respect for Horace. Deeply moved, Horace stood in the boat and doffed his hat in return. The crowd remained there until the boat disappeared down the coast toward Fillipin.

 13. Valgor

    Chapter Thirteen


    VALGOR


    Valgor was a large island nation located off of Alleria¡¯s western coast. Although the two countries were ethnically and linguistically alike, the similarities ended there. Valgor was a mercantile confederation led by a self-selected group of wealthy businessmen who exerted loose control over its two dozen major cities, each of which jealously guarded its social, political, and economic prerogatives. There was no monarchy, no landed aristocracy, and not much by way of an army. Valgor¡¯s ships plied the oceans, carrying the world¡¯s cargo from the Rowowan tundra to Linecure¡¯s dense jungle. During Rowowa¡¯s war with Alleria, Valgor maintained a strict neutrality not so much out of principle, but rather so its merchants could trade with both sides. And if this meant that both Rowowa and Alleria sometimes abused Valgoran merchants, the Valgorans considered this the cost of doing business. Now that the conflict was over, though, Valgor hurried to cozy up to the Rowowan empire. Fortunately for Kargas and the royal twins, the Valgorans did not completely turn their backs on Alleria. For one thing, the cultural and personal connections between the two peoples remained strong. For another, the Valgorans wanted to make clear to everyone that Rowowan victory had not intimidated them into blind obedience.


    These personal connections were the main reason why Kargas decided to take the royal twins to Valgor. He had served as adviser to the Allerian ambassador to Valgor before the war. In that position he had befriended innumerable Valgoran officials sympathetic to Alleria. In fact, soon after Kargas and the royals reached Kirkwell, he had identified Valgor as their next refuge and developed a contingency plan for them to get and stay there. Specifically, he selected the Valgoran city of Mercia as their sanctuary. With a population of a quarter million, it was neither the biggest nor most important Valgoran city, but it contained a large Allerian exile community that could help hide and protect the royals. Moreover, Kargas was friends with its mayor, who had throughout the conflict surreptitiously assisted Alleria. Not only was the mayor¡¯s mother Allerian, but he had substantial economic connections with Alleria that he wanted to maintain and protect.


    Getting to Mercia had not been easy for the royal party. As Kargas had expected, as soon as the home guard opened fire on Rowowan troops coming ashore, the Rowowan commander had summoned all the warships surrounding Kirkwell to the harbor to support the soldiers. This enabled the boat containing Kargas, Lattamore, Rael, Frederick, Iona, and Iona¡¯s servant girl Lana to slip out from a cove on Kirkwell¡¯s western shore and down the Heath¡¯s foggy and isolated coast to the tiny port of Lackamore. There they picked up a former Allerian agent familiar with the waters to shepherd them across the Valgor Straits to Mercia. The entire trip took a week, during which Iona again succumbed to seasickness.


    Despite their hurried and somewhat chaotic evacuation of Kirkwell, Kargas was not downcast. He always knew that it was a matter of time until the Rowowans located the royals on Kirkwell. He was instead encouraged that it took them so long to do so. To Kargas, this was more evidence of the Rowowan empire¡¯s problems. Reports indicated that the Rowowans were discovering that digesting Alleria was even more difficult that conquering it. Tribal unrest in the Rowowan tundra was only getting worse, as were riots by out-of-work veterans in Rowowan cities. The Rowowan imperial council¡¯s only real accomplishment since the conflict¡¯s end was putting on trial one of its own for collaboration with the Allerians. Rowowan control over Alleria¡¯s southern wastelands was so uncertain that the people in Hollandia had revolted and expelled the city¡¯s small Rowowan garrison. Kargas had even toyed with the idea of taking the royals there to establish a Free Alleria zone until he received reports that the locals seemed more intent on killing each other than in uniting to keep the Rowowans out. Kargas continued to believe that time was on the royals¡¯ side. Each day brought them closer to, not further from, Allerian independence. Until the time came for the royals to emerge from hiding to rally, unite, and lead the Allerian people, it was his job to keep them safe.


    Although Kargas¡¯s confidence in Alleria¡¯s eventual independence remained undiminished, he harbored growing reservations about the man who would rule over it. As far as Kargas was concerned, Rael had not demonstrated much character, intelligence, or leadership during his time in Kirkwell. His inability to inspire and rally the home guard was as disturbing as his blas¨¦ response to Anna Mullins¡¯s death. Kargas doubted that Rael had killed Anna Mullins, but he was sure that Rael¡¯s partying, womanizing, and drinking made him vulnerable to such situations. Kargas had refrained from interfering in that unsavory part of Rael¡¯s life out of respect for his privacy. He had instead relied on Frederick to keep Rael¡¯s baser emotions in check. Frederick¡¯s motives seemed pure enough. He could have remained behind in Aurora and lived off his family¡¯s income, but he had instead agreed to accompany Rael on a difficult, dangerous, and uncertain mission. Kargas appreciated the risks he had taken, but worried that Frederick actually enabled Rael¡¯s poor behavior. In fact, the more Kargas thought about it, the more he wondered if his hands-off attitude toward Rael resulted from a fear of what he would discover if he looked too closely.


    On the other hand, Kargas felt increasing respect for Iona. The shallowness, frivolousness, and self-centeredness that had characterized her actions during the war had all but disappeared during her time on Kirkwell. She had abandoned her promiscuity, taken a job, and stayed out of trouble. She had also become more serene, confident, and reasonable. Most importantly, she had taken her role as a princess seriously by embracing the responsibilities the position entailed. To be sure, she had certainly made mistakes while on Kirkwell. Kargas remained flummoxed with her decision to advertise her identity at Royo¡¯s execution. But the positives outweighed the negatives in both weight and number. Indeed, Iona¡¯s success in rallying the home guard enabled them to escape from the island. When he expressed his pride in her behavior on Kirkwell, she responded, ¡°We all have a part to play in this story, and I intend to play mine to the best of my ability.¡±


    As it was, Iona was not nearly as confident and secure as she acted. Once they reached Mercia, Kargas procured for the royal party a dwelling in a quiet, well-to-do neighborhood along the waterfront that Iona dubbed ¡°the bungalow.¡± Kargas urged Iona and Rael to get out and present themselves as respectable Allerians who had fled Rowowan tyranny. Iona tried to play the part, but discovered that the traumatic events she had gone through on Kirkwell made it difficult to schmooze with strangers. Although she was proud of her role in rallying the home guard, she regretted that she did not do more to help Royo. She was also ashamed that she had not resisted Officer Owens¡¯s sexual advances. It occurred to her that just as Owens had pressured her to assume a role not of her own choosing, so had Kargas and others. After all, she never asked to be either a princess or a whore, but people simply took it for granted that she would fulfill those roles. She was unsure what part she wanted to play in life, but knew that she should have the right to carve it out.


    But there was more to it than that. During the week-long boat trip to Mercia, Iona had a lot of time while seasick to think about Anna Mullins¡¯s murder. She could not ignore or dismiss Royo¡¯s insistence that her brother was a killer. She knew that Royo was prone to self-righteous overdramatization, but he had been willing to die in order to focus her attention on Rael¡¯s supposed wrongdoing. That was hard to overlook or discount. The more she thought about it, the more she questioned Rael¡¯s innocence. She thought it was odd that Rael had never expressed much curiosity about Anna Mullins¡¯s murder, even though it was the most discussed topic on the island. Nor did he deny rumors that at least one person had seen him with her on the night of the homicide. Instead, his interests had narrowed to drinking, partying, and womanizing, almost as if he was using them to escape from a guilty conscience.


    Iona knew that the changes in her personality and character were impacting her relationships. She wondered if Kargas¡¯s growing respect was simply the result of her living up to his expectations. As for Frederick, she was disconcerted by the complete lack of interest he showed in her. She suspected that this was due to her refusal to conform to his ideals. Most importantly, her interactions with Rael had become chilly and strained. Iona and Rael had never been close, but resentment had replaced Rael¡¯s usual indifference toward her. He seemed to regard her more as a competitor than a sibling. Iona concluded that Rael was threatened by the inner strength she had demonstrated on Kirkwell.


    One evening, about a week after they reached Mercia, the royal party sat down together as usual for dinner. Because Kargas was absent, Rael and Frederick had started imbibing earlier than usual, so they were both tipsy by the time Lana served the meal. As it often did, their conversation turned to the war. Iona usually tuned out their self-serving reminiscences, but she snapped to attention when she heard one of them mention an officer named Turnkey. Royo had told her on the night before he was supposed to be executed that a Lieutenant Colonel Turnkey had escorted him to the front. The same artillery shell that injured Royo had killed Turnkey. She remembered Royo saying that Turnkey claimed that he had uncovered Brenda Furthermore¡¯s killer during a recent visit to the front. Now she listened to Rael and Frederick regale each other with tales of Turnkey¡¯s phenomenal poker playing abilities during his trip to their Noemfoor headquarters along the Ethosian-Rowowan border. When Iona innocently asked them what Turnkey was doing in such a remote place, they looked at each other for a couple seconds before claiming that they did not remember.


    Iona returned to her room after dinner and tried assess all this information. Someone had obviously sent Turnkey to Noemfoor early in the war to collect information on Brenda Furthermore¡¯s murder. Turnkey apparently discovered enough evidence there to identify the likely killer. Was it Rael? Instead of arresting and prosecuting him, though, the same person who had directed Turnkey to Noemfoor then dispatched him to Narnicle to arrange Royo¡¯s death. Was Kargas orchestrating this cover-up? Did he have that much power at the war¡¯s start? Iona had learned a great deal about petty intrigue during her years in the palace, but this was on a completely different level and with much higher stakes. Iona wondered what she should do with this intelligence. Perhaps it was best to just leave it in the past and focus on larger and more important issues, such as Allerian independence? Besides, how reliable and verifiable was it?This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Voices outside her window interrupted Iona¡¯s contemplations. Since they had left Aurora, Iona¡¯s servant girl, Lana, had grown from an awkward girl into an attractive young woman. Her transformation had been so gradual that Iona scarcely noticed it. Others, though, obviously had. Craning her neck to see out the window, Iona saw Rael flirting with Lana. Although Rael delivered his lines with practiced smoothness, there was a slight creepiness to his pitch that should have doomed his efforts ¨C the too-ready smile, the forced intimacy, and the awkward innuendos. Fortunately for Rael, his good looks and aristocratic demeanor compensated for his oily glibness. Considering her age and inexperience, Iona was not surprised that Lana was enjoying the attention. Iona realized that if her theory was right, then Lana¡¯s life was in as much danger as Brenda Furthermore¡¯s and Anna Mullins¡¯s had been. She also remembered that Royo had implored her to prevent such a reoccurrence.


    Iona¡¯s impulsiveness had always been a mixed blessing. She was aware of it, but did not see it as a character flaw. Instead, she questioned the instincts that provoked such rashness. As soon as Rael¡¯s sappy conversation with Lana ran its course, Iona walked out to the porch. Rael was still there, smoking a cigarette and enjoying the ocean view. It irked her that he seemed pleased with himself, as if he was confident that the hook he had just baited would inevitably catch the fish he wanted. Over the past year her conversations with Rael had become increasingly strained and uncomfortable. She braced herself for another one, but was determined to engage him anyhow.


    Do you like her?¡± she asked nonchalantly.


    ¡°Who?¡±


    Iona groaned inside, but tried to remain civil. ¡°Lana.¡±


    Rael took a drag on his cigarette. ¡°Her? Yes, she¡¯s a nice girl.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Iona said. ¡°She¡¯s a girl. She¡¯s sixteen. Surely you can find someone a bit older.¡±


    Rael stiffened. ¡°She¡¯s your servant, not your slave.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Iona replied. ¡°I care about her and don¡¯t want her hurt.¡±


    Rael¡¯s eyes went cold and dark. ¡°What makes you think I would hurt her?¡±


    Iona looked him in the eyes. ¡°Why? Is that an issue for you?¡±


    Rael leaned in closer to her and dropped his voice. ¡°Be careful, sister. You might think you deserve it, but I¡¯m still heir to the throne.¡±


    Iona wondered what inheriting the throne had to do with Lana. ¡°That sounds like a threat, brother. Did you use those same words to coax Anna Mullins into her bed?¡±


    Rael suddenly smacked Iona across the face, knocking her into the wall. ¡°You don¡¯t know anything,¡± he said as he stalked into the house.


    After retrieving some ice for her bruised face, a stunned Iona retreated to her room to sort out her emotions. She was furious with Rael, but unsure how to respond. The obvious recourse, appealing to Kargas, seemed childish. The incident crystalized many of the feelings that had been churning in her mind for the last few weeks. For one thing, it convinced her that Rael was a murderer. She believed that he had killed both Brenda Furthermore and Anna Mullins, and would probably do the same to Lana if given the opportunity. In addition, Iona now knew for sure that she did not want to spend an indeterminate amount of time scurrying from one strange place to another in Rael¡¯s company, a step ahead of Rowowan agents and assassins, while waiting for the Rowowan empire to collapse so her wretched brother could reign over it. The problem for Iona was to find a way to stop Rael and escape the role others had assigned her.


    Kargas was not blind to the increasing tension between Iona and Rael. He chalked up much of it to stress caused by close confinement and uncertainty about the future. That being the case, he figured that the siblings might appreciate a night on the town to break up their monotonous routine. Both enjoyed the theater, so when Kargas learned that Marco Dillonbrough¡¯s Girls About Town was coming to Mercia¡¯s Oracle Playhouse, he bought three tickets for opening night for Iona, Rael, and himself. He also made dinner reservations so that the three of them would have the opportunity to talk about their differences after the play in a congenial environment.


    Iona accepted Kargas¡¯s invitation without enthusiasm. Although she had no desire to spend any more time with her brother than necessary, the prospect of good food and entertainment counterbalanced her distaste in the company. That night, though, as she lay in bed awaiting sleep, it occurred to her that the evening offered her the opportunity for escape and retribution that she had been seeking. At first it seemed like a flight of fancy, but as her mind assembled the pieces and filled in the details, it became not only possible, but imperative.


    The next morning Iona walked down to breakfast. There a hung-over Rael flirted shamelessly with Lana, touching her hand and discussing plans to picnic together at the nearby park. Although Iona feigned indifference, she seethed on the inside. She returned to her room, closed the door, and took out a blank piece of stationary. Using block letters to disguise her handwriting, she penned a short and to-the-point note to the Rowowan consulate in Mercia: ¡°Prince Rael, the heir to the Allerian throne, will attend the opening of Girls About Town at Mercia¡¯s Oracle Playhouse. You can identity him by his goatee.¡± She thought about providing more details to boost the letter¡¯s credibility, but opted instead for a signature guaranteed to attract the attention of anyone familiar with the royals¡¯ saga. She signed it ¡°Anna Mullins.¡± That afternoon she took a long walk through the city and surreptitiously popped the letter into a mailbox.


    Iona had two weeks to prepare for her escape. She planned it out secretly and in tedious detail. She procured train and ferry schedules and used them to memorize several different possible routes to her destination. She walked to the train station every day until she knew the path by heart. Because she had spent little money since leaving Kirkwell, she already had a nice nest egg to fall back upon. Just to be safe, though, she augmented her cash reserves by persuading Kargas to give her additional funds for an expensive sewing machine that she did not get around to purchasing. She packed and hid a small suitcase of essential items, none of which gave any indication of her identity. Finally, she bought at a secondhand clothing store a nondescript dress that made her indistinguishable from Valgoran working girls.


    Iona tossed and turned the night before the play opened. The knowledge that she had unilaterally set into motion a chain of events that would within twenty-four hours irretrievably change the lives of her and her companions weighed heavily on her conscience. Although she often doubted the wisdom and practicality of her plan, she knew that she had committed herself to its implementation the second she slid the letter into the mailbox slot. Her haggard and exhausted appearance the next morning gave credence to her claim that she was ill and would be unable to attend Girls About Town with Kargas and Rael. Kargas was clearly disappointed, but did not question the veracity of her story. Iona spent the day feigning sickness and calming her nerves. Fortunately, two pieces of news encouraged her. When Lattamore checked up on her, he mentioned that he was visiting an old friend that evening, so he would not be in the house when she made her escape. Neither would Frederick; Kargas decided to invite him along rather than waste the theater ticket.


    Lattamore left in the late afternoon, followed shortly thereafter by Kargas, Rael, and Frederick. Their goodbyes were unsurprisingly perfunctory. Iona watched them depart with mixed emotions, but assured herself that she was doing the right thing by remembering Brenda Furthermore and Anna Mullins. As soon as they were out of view, Iona found Lana and asked her to clean up the kitchen. As Lana hurried toward the sink, Iona mentioned that she was going out for a long walk. She rushed to her room, changed into her working girl dress, tied up her hair, grabbed her bag, and slipped out the door. She reached the train station fifteen minutes later, bought a third class ticket, and climbed onboard. Although it seemed like forever, the crowded train pulled out of the station a half hour later and was soon chugging southwestward. Iona tried to read a book, but was unable to concentrate, so she stared out the window and watched the Valgoran coast go by.


    The hypnotic rumble of the train failed to still Iona¡¯s mind. She was pleased that she was finally controlling events, not the other way around. She knew that she remained a wanted woman, but she believed she had figured out a way to disappear for good. While studying the train and ferry timetables, she had discovered something odd. There was one ferry that did not restrict itself to crossing the Valgor Straits between Alleria and Valgor. It instead continued up the Valgor coast to Pennyrole, Carlisle, Mercia, Ludwig, and Hollyoake. If Iona got off the train at Haddonsburg, she could board this ferry and double back to Mercia before continuing northeastward to Hollyoake. Chances were slim that anyone would expect her to take this route.


    After a sleepless night, Iona detrained at Haddonsburg. She had several hours to wait until the ferry arrived from Alleria and continued up the coast to Mercia and Hollyoake, so she ate lunch at a rundown diner and then found a small salon at which to get her hair cut short. She was surprised that there was nothing in the papers about Rael. Indeed, she wondered if he had somehow avoided the trap she assumed her letter had helped set, and worried that Kargas was hot on her trail. Until she knew otherwise, though, she decided to stick with her plan. She boarded the ferry in the early evening and found a seat by a window. By now her adrenaline rush had worn off and she was getting tired. Moreover, although the ferry was considerably larger than the boats she had taken to Kirkwell and Mercia, she still felt a little seasick. Even so, she fell asleep soon after the ferry pushed off from its dock and headed up the Valgor coast.


    Iona had never attached much significance to dreams. She rarely remembered them anyway. As she slept on the ferry, though, she had a vivid dream of her father. In it the two of them were walking in the palace gardens. She asked him which was more important, truth or loyalty? Her father tugged on his beard for a moment. ¡°Well, Bank,¡± he said. ¡°The answer is truth. Whenever you sacrifice truth for loyalty, you invariably end up transferring your loyalty to the lie you¡¯ve created.¡±


    When Iona woke up, the cabin was full of dozing passengers and the overhead lights were dimmed. She felt like a weight had been lifted from her heart. She was unsure whether this was due to her dream, a few hours of rest, or her assumption that she was finally safe. All that she knew for certain was that she was finally free ¨C free of responsibilities no one asked her if she wanted to assume and of expectations she had no role in creating. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she noticed that the man sitting across from her seemed vaguely familiar. He was looking at her with a bemused smile on his face and a glint in his one eye.


    Horace Oxenstera leaned forward. ¡°Hello, Princess Iona.¡±

 14. The Fugitive

    Chapter Fourteen


    THE FUGITIVE


    While Iona was boarding the train to Haddonsburg, Kargas, Rael, and Frederick were enjoying Girls About Town at Mercia¡¯s Oracle Playhouse. The theater was packed, the crowds were enthusiastic, and the play was good. Even so, Kargas felt uneasy as he watched the actors deliver their lines. Kargas had long ago mastered his emotions, so he wondered why he could not identify the reasons behind his anxiety. Maybe, he thought, he was just responding to the unfamiliar environment. After all, he was sitting in a room full of Valgorans. He was also concerned with Rael¡¯s instability and his deteriorating relationship with Iona. As he mulled it over, however, he concluded that there was more to it than that. He had spent the previous week working on a new contingency plan in case they had to flee Mercia. Although he would never say so out loud, he admitted to himself that he was tired of moving from one strange environment to another. He had willingly taken on the responsibility of looking after the royals, but he had not realized what a burden it would be.


    The three men left the theater as soon as the play ended and headed down the street in the gathering twilight toward the restaurant at which Kargas had secured reservations. Rael and Frederick were in front, discussing the actors¡¯ performances, while Kargas followed behind. Scanning the crowded avenue in the eerie glow of the streetlights, Kargas noticed an unusual number of young, rough-looking fellows standing along the sidewalks and in doorways. They were not talking to each other, but were instead looking at an older gentleman perched on a brick step, who was in turn staring intently in Rael¡¯s direction.


    As they approached an intersection, Kargas suddenly realized that these men were moving toward them through the throng of people who had just left the play. Thinking quickly, he yelled, ¡°Fire! Fire! Fire!¡± as loud as possible. This interrupted the crowd¡¯s flow pattern as people stopped to look or turned to run. Either way, it interfered with the men rapidly approaching Rael. Kargas grabbed Rael¡¯s arm and pulled him toward an office building entranceway. To his relief, the door was unlocked, so they rushed inside. Although Frederick was only several feet behind them, Kargas opted to shut and lock the door in his face. Waiting for him would have given their pursuers the opportunity to force their way through, but sacrificing him bought them time to escape. Kargas got one look at Frederick¡¯s disappointed and panicked face before he turned away to join Rael.


    As the men outside swarmed around Frederick and began battering the door, Kargas and Rael looked frantically around them for an escape route. Kargas suddenly noticed a stairwell and rushed toward it with Rael close behind him. They bounded the steps three at a time, climbing up all eight stories in just a few minutes. By the time they burst onto the roof, Kargas had formulated a plan to get them out of their predicament. Kargas knew that Mercia¡¯s downtown buildings were so close together that many of the side streets were limited to foot traffic only. As a result, there was only six to eight feet between them. Moreover, they all tended to be of similar height. Kargas nodded at Rael, took a few steps back, and leaped over to the neighboring building. Rael quickly followed suit, landing with a thud on a pile of tarpaper. They crossed that building¡¯s roof and repeated the process.


    Kargas believed that reaching the next building would put them far enough from the initial ambush for them to descend to the first floor and escape undetected into city streets. He made the jump easily, then turned to wait for Rael. Rael got a running start, but failed to notice a protruding pipe near the building¡¯s edge. He tripped over it and fell eight stories to the concrete below, killing him instantly.


    When Kargas saw Rael stumble toward and then over the ledge, he rushed to the side of his building in time to watch the prince hit the pavement below with a silent thud. Kargas called Rael¡¯s name, but knew from the pool of blood rapidly spreading around his body that it was too late. He saw people hurrying over to see what happened. Kargas turned and sat down with his back to the building ledge. The Office of Advisers had given him the difficult job of protecting the royal twins and shepherding them back to power because of his proven record of success in whatever mission he was assigned. He knew that the odds were long, but he had faced and overcome similar odds in Alleria¡¯s service innumerable times in the course of his career. Indeed, he had always had confidence in his ability to mold events in such a way that benefited his cause. Now, though, he had not only failed, but had failed in the most spectacular and irretrievable fashion imaginable. That unfamiliar reality, as well as the accumulated stress of the past year, emotionally paralyzed him. He could not think or act, but simply sat by the ledge and looked out into space. Valgoran police found him there more than an hour later in a state of shock, took him into custody, and, days later, turned him over to the Rowowan Post Office.


    Iona¡¯s complacency and relief evaporated the instant she recognized Horace. Instead, she felt a wave of despair overwhelm her. It had turned out that she was not as smart as she thought. She tried to speak, but could not. Finally, she asked, ¡°How did you find me?¡±


    Horace shrugged. ¡°Happenstance.¡±


    When a shocked Iona failed to respond to his flippant remark, Horace continued. ¡°My bosses recalled me from Kirkwell a few days ago. On my way back to Aurora I got orders to go to Mercia immediately. No explanation why. When I was getting off the ferry at Haddonsfield I saw you getting on. I turned around and returned to the boat. What are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°I ran away,¡± Iona said simply.


    Horace cocked an eyebrow. ¡°Doesn¡¯t sound like you.¡±


    ¡°What happens now?¡± Iona asked.


    ¡°Well,¡± Horace responded, ¡°that depends on you.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?


    Horace sat back in his seat. ¡°Iona, if you had a choice, what would you do with your life? What¡¯s your dream?¡±


    Iona did not hesitate. ¡°I want to live a normal life, a life like everyone else¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± said Horace. ¡°What if I could arrange that?¡±


    Iona turned defiant. ¡°I won¡¯t live in some Rowowan gilded cage.¡±


    Horace shook his head. ¡°No, you misunderstand me. What if I can arrange for you to disappear into Valgoran society so you can live your own life?¡±


    Iona narrowed her eyes. ¡°Why would you do that?¡±


    ¡°My bosses don¡¯t want you captured because you might become a martyr,¡± Horace explained.


    Iona looked suspiciously at Horace. ¡°Continue.¡±


    Horace put his hands together. ¡°But understand that in order for this to work, you have to trust me. And if it does work, there will be no turning back. You can never reclaim your royalty. If you tried, no one would believe you.¡±


    ¡°What would I do?¡±


    ¡°What would you do?¡± an exasperated Horace mimicked. ¡°Whatever you want. Live your life as you see fit.¡±


    ¡°How would you do it?¡± she asked.


    Horace pursed his lips. ¡°I need to figure that out. We¡¯ll stay onboard the ferry until we get to Hollyoake. By then I will hopefully have a plan.¡± Horace looked at her. ¡°Go back to sleep.¡±


    With that, Horace leaned back in his seat and closed his one eye. Iona watched him suspiciously for several minutes. She did not know whether to trust him. After all, he was a Rowowan agent with an agenda. However, she figured that if he had wanted to capture her, he could have stayed out of sight and had some Rowowan goons follow and kidnap her as soon as they docked at Hollyoake. If the overlord was lying, she was hard put to guess why. For whatever reason, she had an ally. That made her feel better, and within minutes she fell back asleep.


    The sun was up when Iona roused herself, grungy and sore from her night in the cramped seat. Horace was already awake, scribbling on a piece of paper. He informed her that the ferry had just reached Ludwig. They agreed to meet on the deck for breakfast after he retrieved a newspaper on the dock and she washed up in the restroom. When she sat down a short time later at the table he had procured for them, he wordlessly pushed the newspaper to her. Its headline announced Rael¡¯s death at Mercia two evenings earlier.


    When Iona had played out in her mind how her plan would end, she pictured Rael in a prison where he could no longer hurt anyone. She had not wanted or expected him to die. Although she did not get along with him, he was still her brother. Moreover, how could she be sure he was guilty of the crimes that prompted her to turn him in? Who was she to make that determination? She started crying until Horace warned her not to attract attention to them.


    As she struggled to regain control over her emotions, she said, ¡°This is my fault. This is all my fault.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s that?¡± Horace asked.


    Iona explained that she had sent an anonymous letter pinpointing Rael¡¯s location because she believed he had murdered Anna Mullins. Now, though, she was not so sure.


    Horace nodded, ¡°Well, now I understand why Rowowa was sending every agent and his brother to Mercia all of a sudden.¡±


    Crying women had always disconcerted Horace, so he tried to keep Iona calm and focused. He pushed food toward her and asked, ¡°Do you want to hear a long story that may make you feel better?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    Horace put his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together. ¡°At the end of the war I was a member of an interagency intelligence group called The Inquiry. Our job was to collect and analyze information about the Allerian empire to help Rowowa win the war. On the day Aurora surrendered, we moved into the city early to seize Alleria¡¯s archives before you all could destroy them. We wanted all the information there. After our rangers cleared and secured the building, we entered to see what we could find of value. Our commanding officer was explaining his plan to us when the whole place blew up. Everyone there, all my friends, were killed except for me. The only reason why I survived was because I was standing in the back in a door frame by a stairwell. Even so, I lost my eye and was hospitalized for two weeks. It wasn¡¯t much fun getting wounded the day the war ended.¡±


    Horace tapped his eyepatch. ¡°My eye often itches, even though it¡¯s not there. I don¡¯t know why that happens.¡±


    ¡°Anyway,¡± he continued, ¡°when I got out of the hospital, my bosses assigned me to help our replacements in the Inquiry go through all the papers they had found in the rubble of the archives and elsewhere in Aurora. Our top priority was to use this information to locate you and your brother. The problem was that our replacements were green, na?ve, and rather ignorant. They were discovering all this evidence that indicated that Rowowan officials at all levels had collaborated with or spied for Alleria during the war. They also had lots of contradictory information about your identity and whereabouts. See, someone, probably your adviser, had spent weeks, if not months, systematically seeding the files with disinformation. It was quite sophisticated ¨C genius, actually. I recognized it because I was experienced, but these new guys were not. They turned it over to nonprofessionals who used it in their power struggles within the Rowowan government that are still going on. The upshot was that you couldn¡¯t trust any material coming out of an Auroran archive or office file. It was all tainted.


    ¡°So while my new colleagues continued chasing their tails, I looked for information about the royal family that I knew was accurate. At the war¡¯s start, Valgor¡¯s ambassador was a man named¡­Kritchner.¡±


    Iona interrupted. ¡°Oh, Matthew Kritchner. Charming man.¡±


    ¡°Was he? Anyway, as ambassador Mr. Kritchner wrote some very detailed accounts about Allerian palace intrigue that he of course sent back to his superiors in Valgor. Turns out that Rowowan intelligence had bribed his courier to let them photograph these reports, so we had on file around one hundred pages of information that Kargas had not compromised. It¡¯s too bad the Valgoran government recalled him soon after the war began; his reports were a goldmine. One of the big events during his tenure was the murder of a young servant girl on the palace grounds.¡±


    ¡°Brenda Furthermore,¡± said Iona.


    ¡°Yes, Brenda Furthermore. At first her murder caused quite a hubbub in palace circles, but within a few weeks it had disappeared as a topic of conversation. Palace officials acted as if it had never happened. Kritchner wasn¡¯t stupid. He figured that someone high up was involved and that the Allerian government had covered it up. He got his hands on the official police autopsy and attached it to his report to his government, which of course fell into our hands. The autopsy stated that the perpetrator had raped and killed Miss Furthermore, and then posed her body on her back with her arms stretched high above her head and tied together with twine.


    ¡°I read through this material more out of curiosity than any belief that it would help locate you and your brother. However, when I mentioned the murder to a couple of my new colleagues, one remembered that he had encountered a similar incident during the war. He said that he was stationed along the Ethosian-Rowowan border after the Battle of Biscuit River. Some local Ethosian bigwig threw his lot behind Rowowa because some Allerian had raped and killed his daughter, but Allerian authorities refused to investigate the crime. The murderer had posed the body the same way as Brenda Furthermore¡¯s. So I checked our records and discovered that the Allerian unit stationed there was the First Royal Division. Do you know who served in that outfit?¡±Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°Rael,¡± Iona replied.


    Horace tapped his nose. ¡°Yes. But I knew that that could just be a coincidence. I therefore spent several weeks following the First Royal Division¡¯s deployments throughout the war. Very tedious work plowing through newspapers, Rowowan intelligence material, Allerian army reports, and local government records. I found three more instances of girls raped, murdered, and posed with their arms above their heads and tied together with twine. As far as I can tell, Rael was the only person in each place at the time of the murder.¡±


    ¡°What about Frederick Fitzpatrick?¡± Iona asked.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t find any record of him in all these places.¡±


    Iona was both surprised and relieved by that specific piece of information.


    ¡°Finally,¡± continued Horace. ¡°Just a few weeks before the Allerian surrender, another girl was murdered on palace grounds. This was right after Rael returned to Aurora.¡±


    Horace let this information sink in. ¡°It seemed clear to me that Rael was a multiple murderer. It was also clear that if he had killed before, he would probably do so again. All that I had to do was to wait until I got a report of a murder that matched those of the other girls, and then I could locate Rael¡¯s hideout.¡±


    Iona interrupted. ¡°But you arrived at Kirkwell before Anna Mullins¡¯s murder.¡±


    Horace laughed. ¡°Yeah, I did. My commanding officer told me that if I was going to wait around for something to happen, I may as well make myself useful in the meantime. There was a shortage of overlords, and the Ladle seemed like one place where you royals might seek sanctuary. So he sent me there. I identified Mr. Kargas as an adviser pretty quickly ¨C he was hard to miss ¨C but I figured he was just another down-on-his-luck former Allerian official. As soon as one of the dockworkers told me about Anna Mullins¡¯s murder, though, I realized that you and Rael were on the island.¡±


    Horace sipped his tea. ¡°The point is that Rael was a bad guy. He raped and murdered girls. I know he was your brother, but I think that he got what he deserved. Don¡¯t let his death trouble you. You did the right thing.¡±


    Iona wanted to believe that, but it still weighed heavily on her conscience. At the same time, though, she was mesmerized with Horace¡¯s revelations. She felt as if she was talking with someone who knew the answers to many of the world¡¯s questions and was willing to divulge them to her for a limited time. She searched her mind for other enquiries with answers in which she was interested.


    ¡°Did you ever come across a Lieutenant Colonel Turnkey in the course of your research?¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Horace replied. ¡°Eric Turnkey was your father¡¯s military aide at some point early in the war.¡±


    Iona scanned her memory. There were always officers around her father who came and went with depressing regularity. She did not remember him, but why would she? However, if he worked for her father, then that meant that he had sent Turnkey to investigate Brenda Furthermore¡¯s death and escort Royo to Lollister. It also meant that he had not only known that Rael was a murderer, but had also sought to eliminate Royo for suspecting Rael of the crime. As she processed this information, Iona felt her heart crumble.


    ¡°I think my father knew about Rael,¡± she said. ¡°How could he have known and not done anything about it?¡±


    ¡°Beats me,¡± Horace responded. ¡°But remember that people often sacrifice their morals in wartime for the sake of victory.¡±


    Iona nodded unconvincingly. She had never been ashamed of her father until now. But she was more disappointed than angry. What more was there to say?


    ¡°Why did you send Royo away after you got the city council to reconsider its verdict?¡±


    Horace put down his fork. ¡°It wasn¡¯t safe for him to stay there for several reasons. Someone would have discovered sooner or later that he had worked for us.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean by that?¡±


    Horace looked surprised. ¡°I assumed you knew. We recruited him a few months after he was captured.¡±


    Iona could not believe it. No one seemed to be who he claimed to be. ¡°Royo¡­was a Rowowan spy?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± responded Horace. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t call him that. He didn¡¯t have the temperament. Too honest. We put him on a Valgoran merchant ship and asked him to report information on the vessels he saw in the ports he visited. He did a fine job until he disappeared. Imagine my surprise when I learned that he had quite literally washed ashore at Kirkwell.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that the very definition of a spy?¡± Iona asked.


    Horace noticed Iona¡¯s anger. ¡°Yes and no, but I won¡¯t argue semantics. I wouldn¡¯t blame him if I were you. Remember that he was Ethosian, not Allerian. Also, he probably would have died had he remained in that prison camp.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care. He was a subject in our kingdom. Where is he now?¡± Iona asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. He disappeared again. He never even picked up the money I made selling his shop and its contents.¡±


    Iona glumly poked at her food. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to think.¡±


    Horace returned to the matter at hand. ¡°Do you still want to live an ordinary life?¡±


    Learning these secrets had reinforced Iona¡¯s dislike of the life she had been living. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°And do you still want my help to do so?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Horace continued. ¡°Here¡¯s what we¡¯re going to do: we¡¯re going to fake your death. But remember, once we do this, there¡¯s no going back.¡±


    Iona pursed her lips. ¡°I understand. How do we do that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m still working on that. Give me some time to think.¡±


    When they reached Hollyoake later that afternoon, they disembarked and walked to a modest hotel in the western part of the city called the Palisade. Horace told her to check in under an assumed name and handed her a list of chores. He then left to run some errands and returned a couple hours later with a bag containing an inch wide, four feet long chain he had procured. He fetched her from her room and together they walked to a distant diner to go over the plan¡¯s specifics while they ate.


    After he finished explaining the plot, a dubious Iona asked him, ¡°Do you think this will work? Can¡¯t we come up with something¡­more plausible.¡±


    Horace did not take offense. ¡°Well, we don¡¯t have time to be thorough. You¡¯re right to question the plan¡¯s viability. But the thing is to remember that people usually believe what they want to believe, what¡¯s in their immediate best interests to believe, not the truth. That¡¯s our ace, but you¡¯ll have to trust me to play it.¡±


    Iona returned to her room after their late dinner and carefully followed Horace¡¯s instructions, even though some of them made little sense to her. Most importantly, she composed a suicide note. Horace told her to make is short and vague. She wrote it out on top of a blank sheet of paper, then burned it in the fireplace, but left the blank sheet of paper on the desk. After a sleepless night, Iona woke early and exited the hotel, leaving almost everything behind except for the clothes on her back, money, and a bag containing the chain. She walked directly to a boat rental shop on Lake Wagner. There she rented one of the small boats tourists often used for sightseeing. It reminded her of her trips with Royo. She made sure that the clerk saw the chain when she paid. She also insisted that he load a cinderblock onto the boat, claiming that she needed to keep a bad foot elevated. Paddling the quarter mile to a small tree-covered island in the middle of the lake exhausted her. Once there, she tied the chain around the cinderblock, but lacked the strength to lift it over the boat¡¯s side into the water without tipping the vessel. After trying for several minutes, she gave up and laid down on the bottom of the boat so no one could see her and waited nervously for Horace to arrive.


    While Iona was paddling her boat to the island in the middle of Lake Webster, Horace strolled into the nearest telegraph office to send a message informing army intelligence of his whereabouts and activities. He did not provide his bosses with the full report they would undoubtedly expect. Fortunately, he knew that the beancounters expected him to place frugality before thoroughness. His message was therefore brief and to the point: ¡°Found lady. Trying to persuade her to return Aurora peacefully. At Palisade Hotel, Hollyoake.¡± After sending it, he walked down to Lake Webster, rented a boat of his own, and paddled out to the island. He was relieved first to see her boat, and then to see her laying down in it.


    Iona opened her eyes when she felt Horace¡¯s boat bump into hers. He ordered her to stay put while he lashed the boats together with the chain and heaved the cinderblock over the side. From there he paddled a half mile to a small hidden inlet surrounded by trees on the other side of the lake. After grounding his boat on the shore, he helped her reach terra firma.


    Horace looked around to make sure that the coast was clear. He then retrieved a compass from his pocket and tossed it to her. ¡°Walk due east for half a mile. You should come to a field near the train station. Take the first train you can and keep going.¡±


    Standing on the shore with her eyes wide open, Iona reminded Horace of a scared little girl. He felt sorry for her and tried to reassure her. ¡°Remember everything I told you. Make sure no one sees how much money you have and spend it wisely. Get an identity card as soon as possible. And above all, never admit to anyone who you are. Unless you admit it, there¡¯s no way for anyone to prove your true identity.¡±


    As Horace maneuvered the two boats away from the shore, Iona called out to him. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Horace waved and awkwardly paddled the first boat away from the shore, with the second one falling in line behind it. He was about twenty feet from the shore when Iona suddenly called out to him. ¡°If you ever see Royo again, tell him I hope he rots in hell!¡±


    Horace watched Iona disappear into the woods before paddling the two connected boats around the lake for a couple hours as if he was looking for someone. He made sure that several fisherman saw him doing so. Finally, aching and exhausted, he brought the boats to the dock and checked them in, tossed the chain in the water, and walked to the Palisades Hotel. As he anticipated, post office intelligence had intercepted his telegram and sent agents to the scene. From a safe distance he watched Walter Lowenbraugh and his men enter and exit the building well before Valgoran police arrived. When he tired of the scene, he took a cab over to the Rowowan consulate to make his report.


    A month after Iona disappeared, Horace walked into the old Allerian ministry of intelligence building in Aurora. Although the war had been over for well over a year, the structure was still pockmarked by the Rowowan artillery blasts from the long siege of the city. As soon as Alleria surrendered, Rowowan intelligence agencies moved in to occupy it, leading to an unseemly internecine struggle by the various bureaucrats for the best offices and suites. This hardly surprised Horace. Indeed, he possessed a field officer¡¯s usual disdain for paper pushers. As far as he was concerned, these men were more interested in making problems go away than in solving them. Although he ordinarily abhorred this attitude, he now fervently hoped that it manifested itself in the meeting to which he had been summoned.


    The meeting was a weekly one in which representatives from each of the dozen Rowowan intelligence agencies met to review, assess, and coordinate their various activities. It was called the secondary session because most of the agency heads sent their assistants instead of attending themselves. This gave them plausible deniability to disavow or ignore any decisions made in their absence. An appointee from the imperial council named Douglas Horn chaired the secondary session. He possessed little intelligence expertise and no formal power to compel anyone there to do anything, but his recommendations to the imperial council carried weight because it had the final say ¨C at least in theory.


    The top item on the secondary session agenda was Princess Iona¡¯s fate. Walter Lowenbraugh and his post office boys had secured Iona¡¯s hotel room well before Valgor police arrived, then fanned out across the city in search of witnesses to confirm or refute the imprint of the suicide note they discovered in her hotel room. Based on the interviews they conducted, Lowenbraugh quickly determined that Iona had taken her own life by attaching a cinderblock to her person and jumping into Lake Wagner. Although Valgoran divers had failed to locate her body, Lowenbraugh continued to hold to his theory more to discredit Horace and army intelligence than out of confidence in their evidence. Playing catch-up, army intelligence reached a similar conclusion. Both agencies had submitted reports to the secondary session, but its members wanted to hear Horace¡¯s version of events.


    Horace had addressed the secondary conference on several occasions during the war. Each one convinced him that the members heard only what they wanted to hear. He waited outside the ornate conference room for a half hour until an aide summoned him. Scanning the room, he saw Walter Lowenbraugh sitting alongside the deputy director of post office intelligence. After introductions, he stood before the podium at the head of the long table and briefly summarized the post office and army intelligence reports.


    Horace took a deep breath and plunged into his remarks. ¡°With all due respect to my post office and army intelligence colleagues, I disagree with their conclusions. In my opinion, Princess Iona did not commit suicide, but instead faked her death and escaped. She is probably hiding on either Valgor or in Alleria.¡±


    Horace presented his evidence. He noted the absence of a suicide note, her positive demeanor during their time together, and, most importantly, the lack of a corpse. Although he understood the desire to declare her dead and move on to other matters, he believed that Rowowa needed to invest all the resources necessary to locate her and bring her to justice. If they did not, she might become a rallying point for Allerians who refused to accept the war¡¯s outcome.


    As soon as Horace finished, Lowenbraugh asked to make a few comments of his own. He rebutted Horace point by point. He noted that there was a suicide note, or anyhow evidence that she had written one. Although she may have appeared chipper during her discussions with Horace, that was not necessarily a reflection of her true mindset. And Horace probably misread her anyway. Finally, it was hardly surprising that Valgoran divers had failed to locate Iona¡¯s body in Lake Wagner¡¯s cold, murky, and deep waters. She had after all chained herself to a cinderblock before leaping in, and it was unclear exactly where on the lake she did so.


    Lowenbraugh waited a moment to let everyone absorb his statement. ¡°I hesitate to say this, but I believe it is for the good of the empire. I believe that Major Oxenstera is motivated more by personal than professional considerations. As we know, he failed to detect the royals on Kirkwell Island. His neglect of his duty enabled them to escape to Valgor in the first place. Then, after accidentally locating Princess Iona on the ferry, he botched his attempt to bring her back to Rowowa. His efforts to persuade this committee to fund an expensive campaign to find a woman who was almost certainly dead is merely a desperate effort to resurrect an unsuccessful career.¡± It was, he concluded, a sad commentary on the status of army intelligence.


    Horace remained silent throughout Lowenbraugh¡¯s skewering. When it was over, chairman Horn thanked Horace for his comments and excused him, but asked him to remain outside for a few minutes. Horace left, shut the door behind him, and sat on an uncomfortable chair in the lobby. He did not much like being humiliated by Lowenbraugh, but he reminded himself that the only thing hurt was his pride. It would be worth it if the committee stayed true to form. A half hour later, the secondary session recessed for lunch. None of the members looked at Horace as they filed by, except for Lowenbraugh, whose self-satisfied smile irked Horace.


    A few minutes later Horace felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see his superior, Brigadier General Mark Embry. Embry was army intelligence¡¯s secondary session representative, as well as his friend.


    Embry stared at Horace. ¡°Well, Horace, we let you have your say. However, the committee disagreed and decided to put the matter to rest. Mr. Horn will inform the imperial council that we believe that Princess Iona is dead.¡±


    Embry hesitated for a moment, then continued. ¡°You didn¡¯t do your career any favors. Nor did your comments reflect well on army intelligence.¡±


    Horace rolled his eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t have a career in army intelligence. You promised me that I could go home after this mission.¡±


    Embry nodded. ¡°I did. But I have one more assignment I want you to undertake.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want it,¡± Horace responded heatedly. ¡°Give it to someone else. I¡¯m going home.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what,¡± Embry said, ¡°just look into it. If you don¡¯t want the mission, then you can go home. I¡¯ll even give you the demobilization papers before you leave. You can fill in whatever date you want.¡±


    Although Horace resented the Rowowan empire for putting him through the war, he also believed in doing his duty. He sighed. ¡°Okay.¡±

 15. The Prisoner

    Chapter Fifteen


    THE PRISONER


    Michael Kargas was seated on a wooden stool in a small, brightly-lit room. He did not know the time, or even whether it was day or night. He had a black eye, a busted lip, a broken left arm, cracked ribs, and innumerable bruises on his back and legs. He was hungry, thirsty, and dizzy. Despite the beatings and deprivation, though, his keen analytical mind continued to function. He was unimpressed with his interrogators¡¯ overreliance on torture. They seemed more interested in inflicting punishment than in gaining intelligence. Indeed, their few questions were perfunctory, vague, and pointless. His self-discipline had prevented him from breaking, but he knew that everyone had a limit.


    Despite the beatings, Kargas¡¯s resistance was threatened less by physical abuse than by despair. His captors had gleefully informed him of Iona¡¯s suicide soon after he arrived at the prison, though they provided no details. While he felt a grudging respect for her decision, he wished she had taken a longer view and surrendered. Her death ¨C assuming it was true ¨C seemed to put an unsuccessful end to his mission. Indeed, the knowledge that he had failed and had nothing left to live for made it somewhat easier to withstand the torture. But as the days passed and Kargas put more thought into the situation, he realized that all was not necessarily lost. After all, the royal family was Alleria¡¯s symbol, not Rael and Iona. King Bartholomew III had been an only child, but his father had had siblings with children still extant. With Rael and Iona out of the picture, the new heir was Theodore Doukoulatis, a middle-aged attorney in Aurora. Once the Rowowan empire collapsed, Doukoulatis could rally and unite Alleria as well as anyone ¨C with the right advisers at his side. Kargas did not know Doukoulatis¡¯s current whereabouts and situation, but he realized that he needed to escape and contact him as soon as possible.


    For now, however, all Kargas could do was gather as much information as possible about his captors and the prison and wait for an opportunity to use this knowledge profitably. Although he appeared stoic and unresponsive, Kargas paid close attention to his surroundings. He was therefore immediately aware of the loud muffled voices that emanated from the adjoining room from which his guards kept constant watch on him. It sounded like arguing, but he could not be sure. Whatever it was, it constituted a break in the routine, if not necessarily an opportunity.


    Several minutes later the heavy steel door swung open and Horace Oxenstera entered carrying a chair. As the door shut he sat down and looked at Kargas for a long time. He even lifted Kargas¡¯s sleeve to examine his left arm. Finally he leaned back and said, ¡°You¡¯ve seen better days, Mr. Kargas.¡±


    Kargas remained silent and continued to glower at Horace. Horace stared back with his one eye for a minute, then suddenly got up, picked up the chair, knocked on the cell door until it opened, and exited.


    Now that Kargas knew it was Horace, it was easier for him to discern the voices that again originated from the next room. He heard Horace yell at someone else in the room, ¡°The protocol of prisoners clearly states that you have to inform the other intelligence agencies of the capture of a high-ranking prisoner within seventy-two hours and give them access to that prisoner a week later! You didn¡¯t do either of these! We had to learn that Kargas was here through our own sources!¡±


    Kargas could not make out the response, but Horace¡¯s angry voice came through loud and clear this time. ¡°I can¡¯t help but believe that you¡¯re reluctant to let me see him because he might implicate you as one of the conspirators in the Allerian plot to undermine the empire. Shall I include my suspicions in my report to the secondary session?¡± The long silence that followed indicated that Horace had carried the day.


    Less than an hour later Kargas received his first hot meal since he was captured. Guards also brought in a cot and blanket and permitted him uninterrupted sleep. When he woke up in what appeared to be morning, he got another solid meal. After that, Horace returned with a doctor who treated his wounds. Kargas remained silent through it all, uttering no thanks and showing no gratitude. Inwardly, though, he was proud that he had bested his captors in this first and, no doubt, most physically grueling round of their contest.


    Kargas was unsurprised when Horace appeared next day bearing gifts. He brought some books and a chess set. After setting them on a table the guards had brought in earlier, Horace said, ¡°I hope these things make your stay more comfortable.¡±


    Kargas remained silent. He recognized Horace¡¯s actions as a ploy to elicit information by engaging him in conversation and gaining his trust. It was an old and unoriginal interrogation trick. Indeed, Kargas was somewhat offended that Horace would even try such a tactic on him.


    ¡°Look,¡± Horace said, ¡°I have to be here every few days for a couple hours or so. You don¡¯t have to say anything, but you could at least play chess with me to pass the time.¡±


    Kargas mulled that over for a few seconds and nodded. He figured that doing so would give him an opportunity to gain information from Horace. And the more intelligence he extracted from the former overlord, the more likely he was to get out of the prison. It would also keep his mind sharp.


    Kargas easily beat Horace in that chess match and those that followed. Kargas could not understand how an intelligence officer could perform so poorly. At first he wondered if Horace was deliberately losing for some reason, but he eventually realized that he simply lacked the mental wherewithal to play the game well. On the other hand, Horace¡¯s comings and goings provided Kargas with tidbits of information about prison operations that could prove useful in the future. He learned the names of some of his guards, their basic schedules, their unhappiness with their poor working conditions and salaries, and so forth. That almost compensated for the frustration Kargas felt every time Horace made a stupid move.


    For a month Horace regularly visited Kargas in his cell. Each time he brought him several new books before they settled down to a chess match. Although Horace was happy to talk at length about literature, geography, Kirkwell, and especially their mutual acquaintances on the island, he shunned discussion of the social, economic, and political issues that might elicit Kargas useful information about the outside world. Nor was Horace forthcoming about Iona¡¯s suicide. Indeed, Horace saw the war as a painful memory to be suppressed, not as something to review. Kargas eventually gave up his efforts to use Horace as an unwitting intelligence source.


    As time went on, Kargas¡¯s comments about Horace¡¯s play grew snider and less subtle. Finally, at the end of one match, he exclaimed, ¡°You are an awful chess player. I cannot understand how someone so idiotic became an officer in the Rowowan army.¡±


    Horace looked startled. ¡°Why do you care about the quality of my play ¨C or lack thereof? Do you have another pressing engagement?¡±


    Kargas sneered. ¡°This is a waste of my time. And yours.¡±


    Horace pushed his chair back from the table. ¡°Again, I don¡¯t understand why ¨C ¡± He stopped in midsentence, cocked his head to the side, and looked directly at Kargas. ¡°Do you think that this is an interrogation? Do you think I¡¯m trying to establish trust so I can pick up scraps of information¡­to help Rowowa win a war that ended more than a year ago?


    Kargas said nothing.


    Horace leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. ¡°Mr. Kargas, what information do you have that the Rowowan government wants? The name of a contact in Emerald City? A bank account number in Mercia? The location of an anonymous critic in Aurora? Your value to the empire ended the moment Prince Rael splattered on the pavement in Mercia.¡±


    Kargas flinched at the mention of Rael¡¯s fate. ¡°If that were the case,¡± he said, ¡°then why did your colleagues spend two weeks torturing me? Why are you here so often?¡±


    Horace threw up his hands. ¡°They tortured you because that¡¯s what they do. That¡¯s all they know how to do. As for me, I¡¯m here to complete one last mission before I can go home, and this is as good a place to hide as any while I¡¯m doing it.¡±Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°What is the mission?¡±


    Horace laughed. ¡°Why do you care?¡±


    Kargas was tempted to ask for more information, but did not want to appear the supplicant. He had a difficult time believing Horace¡¯s story, but he admitted to himself that Horace had shown remarkably little interest in his professional life. Perhaps this was simply more evidence that Horace was not particularly good at his job. Whatever the truth was, Kargas saw no reason to terminate his relationship with Horace, aggravating though it often was. Horace brought him books and filled up otherwise tedious afternoons with chess. If he had an agenda, Kargas was sure that he would figure it out soon enough. In the meantime, Kargas directed his energies elsewhere. Because Horace had persuaded the warden to treat him better, he had more opportunities to learn about the prison. Most obviously, he permitted Kargas to interact with other prisoners, most of whom were there for opposing the Rowowan regime and were therefore predisposed to view an adviser sympathetically. He also befriended those Allerians working in the prison as custodians, typists, maintenance personnel, and so forth. His efforts were rewarded when a cook slipped him a newspaper and assured him that there were people in and out of the prison working to free him.


    Two months after he arrived at the prison, a guard woke Kargas up early in the morning and ordered him to get dressed and gather his things. After Kargas did so, the guard led him to a small windowless anteroom and told him to wait. Kargas stood there for a few minutes and tried to figure out what was happening. Suddenly the door opened and one of the Allerian custodians who Kargas had befriended entered carrying a heavy winter coat. Because Kargas¡¯s hands were full, the custodian helped put on the coat. As he did so, he said in a low voice, ¡°There¡¯s a loaded revolver in the inside left pocket.¡±


    Shortly thereafter, the original guard returned and escorted Kargas to the prison gate. A small crowd that included the warden was on hand. Dawn was just breaking, and the early morning chill forced everyone to stomp their feet and blow on their hands. Although Kargas did not know why he was there, he relished standing outside of the prison gates and getting an unobstructed view of nature. After fifteen minutes, a car came into view and drove up to the gate. Horace emerged, nodded at the warden, and opened the passenger side.


    ¡°Get in,¡± he said to Kargas.


    ¡°Where are you taking me?¡± Kargas asked.


    ¡°What do you care?¡± Horace responded. ¡°You¡¯re getting out of this place.¡±


    Kargas could not argue with Horace¡¯s logic. He slid awkwardly into his seat and looked at the warden as Horace got behind the steering wheel and started the engine. As the car headed down the long road to the prison, Kargas realized that if he was going to escape, he had to do so soon. He watched the odometer out of the corner of his eye while Horace rattled on about Alleria¡¯s infrastructure. About a dozen miles away from the prison, when the car slowed at a curve in the road, he made his move. He reached into the inside pocket of his coat and withdrew the revolver. Unfortunately for him, at that very moment Horace turned his head to say something. Seeing the gun, Horace instinctively slammed the car¡¯s breaks, propelling both men forward. Kargas let go of the pistol as his head hit the dashboard, and it fell between the seats. Despite his injury, Kargas lunged for the weapon. As he did so, Horace hit him hard on his still-mending left arm while the car rolled forward. Kargas screamed in pain and recoiled into his seat. At the same time, Horace pressed the breaks again, throwing Kargas back onto the dashboard.


    Horace put the vehicle in park so it was idling in the middle of the road. He reached toward the back seat and grabbed the pistol. He then turned to Kargas, who was breathing heavily and partially wedged underneath the dashboard.


    ¡°What the hell are you doing?¡± he asked.


    Kargas remained silent and fought to overcome the waves of pain emanating from his left arm.


    Horace tried again. ¡°What the hell is wrong with you? I should just kill you right now, you son-of-a-bitch.¡±


    He instead emptied the bullets out of the gun, threw them out the window, and put the car in drive. When he noticed Kargas¡¯s pain, he said, ¡°Serves you right.¡±


    The two men drove in silence for another fifteen minutes until they reached a town called Mollyfield. Horace turned into an Allerian restaurant on the main road across from the train station and parked the car. He stomped out of his side of the vehicle, opened up the passenger door, and yanked Kargas out. Gesturing toward the restaurant door, he said sarcastically, ¡°I thought you might appreciate a bona fide Allerian breakfast. You¡¯re welcome.¡±


    Although the hostess looked at them oddly, she did not ask any questions as she seated them. Horace ignored Kargas¡¯s obvious discomfort and ordered a traditional Allerian breakfast for both of them: porridge, toast, and hot tea. As he observed the customers come and go, his temper gradually cooled. In fact, by the time their waitress served them their meal, he was ready to get to the business at hand.


    Horace watched Kargas greedily consume his porridge for a moment before he started his monologue. ¡°The people who seized you in Mercia were from post office intelligence. They brought you to that prison. Fortunately for you, they failed to inform the other intelligence agencies of their actions within seventy-two hours of apprehending you. This violated interagency rules. Similarly, the rules forbid torturing prisoners who might be of interest to other agencies. When my boss learned where the post office was holding you, he sent me to look into the matter. I used their transgressions to strongarm them into giving me access to you.¡±


    Horace paused as the waitress came by to refill their teacups. ¡°Yet another rule states that an agency has sixty days to interrogate a prisoner before it has to give him up to another interested agency. The post office¡¯s problem was that it didn¡¯t really want any information from you because you have no real value to them. And once I showed up, its thugs couldn¡¯t torture you. Their sixty days just ended, so they had to hand you over to an army intelligence representative ¨C me ¨C so we could have an opportunity to question you. I assume that whoever gave you the gun was working for post office intelligence. I also assume that he did so in the hope that you would either embarrass me by escaping ¨C or just kill me. And then someone would kill you too.¡±


    Horace suddenly changed the subject. ¡°What do you know about me?¡±


    Kargas took a big sip of tea. ¡°Not much. Why should I?¡±


    ¡°It seems odd that a man of your intellectual caliber didn¡¯t bother to investigate my background when I arrived in Kirkwell,¡± said Horace.


    Kargas did not want to give Horace the satisfaction of confirming his value. ¡°I saw no point in doing so.¡±


    ¡°At any rate,¡± continued Horace. ¡°I¡¯m from Ippolacia in west central Rowowa.¡±


    ¡°I have never been there,¡± responded Kargas.


    Horace missed the sarcasm and nodded. ¡°As I¡¯m sure you know, Rowowa conquered Ippolacia forty years ago after a two-year war. My grandfather fought in it. He and his buddies spent the rest of their lives conspiring against Rowowa. He took his son, my dad, to secret meetings where they wove intricate plots. At first it was sabotage and assassination, then pamphlets and tracts, and finally boycotts and ostracizing. Nothing ever came of all this talk. These guys wasted years fighting a war that had long since ended. My grandfather hoped that my dad would follow in his footsteps. My dad refused. He said he preferred to live in the here and now, with all its flaws, than in the past. He opened up a bicycle shop and prospered.¡±


    Kargas smiled. ¡°You are a damn fool if you expect me to just accept the Rowowan conquest of my kingdom.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I know,¡± Horace replied. ¡°But there are other ways to serve your people than trying to incite a rebellion that they can¡¯t win.¡±


    ¡°Maybe for you,¡± said Kargas.


    Horace withdrew two sealed envelopes from his coat¡¯s inside pocket. ¡°I asked our people at army intelligence to create a new identity card and put it in this envelope. Except for the person who made it, no one knows the name on it. Not even me. I put some money in the other envelope, enough to start a new life. They¡¯re yours if you want them.¡±


    ¡°To do what?¡± asked Kargas.


    ¡°To start over.¡±


    ¡°What is the catch?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± said Horace. ¡°As long as you obey the law and stick to your new identity, no one will hassle you ¨C not army intelligence, post office intelligence, not anyone. They won¡¯t because they won¡¯t know who you are. On the other hand, if you try to foment rebellion, Rowowan intelligence will hunt you down and execute you. I promise you that.¡±


    ¡°What if I refuse?¡±


    ¡°Then we will drive to an army intelligence facility after our breakfast. You will probably spend years in prison.¡±


    Kargas disagreed with almost everything Horace said. Even so, it was an offer he could not refuse. It promised freedom and a second chance. Indeed, Kargas wondered if it was a trap. Except for a vague threat if he did not cooperate, Kargas did not see an obvious downside.


    ¡°When can I leave?¡±


    Horace shrugged. ¡°Whenever you want. The train station is across the street. I don¡¯t think that post office intelligence has followed us, but you should probably take the proper precautions.¡±


    Kargas opened the envelopes. As Horace stated, they contained an identity card and money. Horace might be lying about the identity card, but Kargas figured he could always buy a new one somewhere ¨C perhaps with the money in the other envelope.


    Although Kargas was still in pain, he decided to leave while he had the chance. He got out of the chair and extended his hand to Horace. ¡°Goodbye, Mr. Oxenstera. I wish you all the best.¡±


    Horace noticed that Kargas did not thank him, but expected as much. Nor was he surprised that Kargas did not want to wait until the end of breakfast. ¡°Goodbye, Mr. Kargas. Remember what I said about staying out of trouble.¡±


    Kargas walked out of the restaurant, crossed the street, and entered the train station. There he bought a ticket to Emerald City. Although no one appeared to be following him, he could not be sure. He knew that there was little chance of escaping detection in this small town, but once the train got to Emerald City, he figured he could easily elude anyone tailing him. He savored his freedom by strolling along the platform, buying a book to read, and sitting at a table. He watched people enter and exit the station, enjoying its ordinariness. He concluded that as long as he was alive, so was the dream of Allerian independence.

 16. The Homecoming

    Chapter Sixteen


    THE HOMECOMING


    It was snowing as the freight train rumbled eastward across the empty, white Yammoe Steppe. Horace sat on the floor of one of the boxcars and watched the countryside slide by through an open side door. Although he had traveled in more primitive and less dignified modes of transportation during the war, he appreciated the irony of returning home in such an indecorous manner. It was, he knew, his own fault. When a friend in the transportation ministry offered him passage, Horace accepted because it seemed like the fastest way home. Unfortunately, riots in Mofov and Singletary, a sabotaged culvert outside of Quinsk, and an accident just short of Ropolowitz turned the eighteen-hour trek into a two-day ordeal. By the time the train approached the bridge over the Dynasty River, Horace was cold, tired, hungry, and dirty. He tried to sleep, but discomfort, noise, and anxiety prevented him from catching more than a few winks here and there. Missions always made him nervous, and as he saw it, he still had one last unhappy mission to complete before he could put the war behind him once and for all.


    For all his dedication and accomplishments, Horace did not feel like a returning hero in a victorious war. To be sure, he had received an honorable discharge, but his superiors blamed him for the string of messes he had supposedly left behind in his last year in the agency. As they saw it, he had failed to prevent the Battle of Kirkwell, Princess Iona¡¯s suicide, and Michael Kargas¡¯s escape. Horace believed that in each instance he had done the right thing ¨C or anyhow he had made the best of a bad situation ¨C but he also understood that as a nonprofessional eager to return to civilian life, he was a convenient scapegoat for these embarrassments. Even so, it hurt his pride. To make things worse, someone stole his wallet when he evacuated his boxcar during the riot at Mofov, leaving him penniless. Small wonder he felt unappreciated and abandoned by an empire to which he had given the best years of his life.


    Despite his gloom, Horace perked up immediately when the train crossed over the Dynasty River into Ippolacia. After eight years, he was finally home. Ippolacia was one of the most geographically and culturally self-contained parts of the Rowowan empire. Steep hills surrounded and walled off the towns that dotted the valleys snaking their way through the region. Indeed, it took the empire two years to subdue its proud and industrious people. As the train chugged along the track on the narrow strip of land between the Dynasty and the encroaching mountains, Horace sniffed the air for the pine trees that camouflaged the terrain. Finally, after several more hours, the train pulled into the Digby station at three in the morning in a swirl of snow flurries.


    Horace grabbed his duffel bag, jumped off the boxcar, waved goodbye to the engineer, and walked across the platform into the cold, dark, and deserted stationhouse. A dim light emanated from a lamp on a desk on the far side of the room, behind which sat an old stationmaster undoubtedly rousted from his warm bed to deal with the late-arriving freight train. Horace wondered if he was the same stationmaster who saw him off when he left for the war all those years ago. He walked over to the desk and cleared his throat. The old man glanced up from his paperwork, noticed Horace¡¯s faded uniform, and saluted ironically.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you a little late getting back from the war?¡± he inquired. ¡°We haven¡¯t seen a veteran in uniform come through here in, oh, six months.¡±


    Horace shrugged. ¡°Someone had to stay behind to close up shop.¡±


    The stationmaster grinned. ¡°You should have been here after the war ended. We had a big celebration when the boys returned home. There were so many people here you could scarcely move. It was so nice to see so many happy reunions.¡±


    Horace forced a smile of his own. ¡°When does the caf¨¦ open?¡±


    ¡°Not until seven thirty.¡±


    Horace thanked him and started to turn away, but, feeling the chill in the room, asked, ¡°Why is it so cold in here?¡±


    ¡°The furnace is busted. I hope to have it fixed by tomorrow afternoon.¡± Gesturing to his right, he continued, ¡°I have this here heater to keep me somewhat warm, but it can¡¯t heat the whole station.¡±


    ¡°Okay, thanks. Oh, is there a taxi to Perception?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. One swings by here around ten in the morning.¡±


    Horace walked over to a wooden bench, sat down, and tried unsuccessfully to nap. He had certainly slept under worse conditions, but it seemed that the closer he got to home, the more antsy he became. After fifteen minutes or so he stood up and walked back to the stationmaster¡¯s desk.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to walk home,¡± he said. ¡°Do you mind if I leave my duffel bag here?¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s fine,¡± responded the stationmaster. ¡°There¡¯s a deposit, and we keep it if you don¡¯t pick it up after thirty days.¡±


    As the stationmaster reached into his desk for a ticket, Horace said, ¡°I don¡¯t have any money. Someone stole my wallet on the train.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± said the stationmaster, ¡°you can just leave it here anyway. It¡¯s the least I can do for a veteran.¡± He wrote out the ticket, ripped the stub off, and gave it to Horace. Looking over the gaunt and tired man in front of him, he stated, ¡°That¡¯s a six-mile hike. Do you think you¡¯re up to it?¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± replied Horace. ¡°I¡¯ve had a lot of practice over the years.¡± He rapped the desk with his knuckles twice and headed outside.


    By now the snow flurries had turned into a heavy sleet. Despite his bravado to the stationmaster, Horace was not sure that hiking home was the right decision. He was weary, anxious, hungry, and, now that he thought about it, not feeling terribly well. Moreover, the road to Perception was uphill and barely discernable in the darkness. Although he hoped he might see a light on in the house of an old friend, he knew that was unlikely at this time of night. The worst thing about making the trek, though, was that walking left him alone with his thoughts, and he was tired of thinking about the task awaiting him. But, having committed himself, Horace started towards Perception, placing one foot in front of another. He trudged up the winding road, past Race Denby¡¯s farmhouse, over the Sawmill Run bridge, and through the crossroads at Spark¡¯s Point. The exertion quickly drove away the cold. Better yet, the sleet slackened and the clouds dissipated, revealing a full moon that illuminated his route.


    It was still dark when Horace finally reached town. Walking into the empty village square, Horace saw landmarks everywhere that triggered long-forgotten memories of happier days before the war. Of course, he reminded himself, they only seemed joyful in retrospect and in comparison to subsequent horrors. His hunger soon interrupted his desire to sort and savor those recollections. He was therefore relieved to notice a diner open on the south side of the square. When he entered and looked around, he saw a waitress organizing place settings for the anticipated breakfast rush. She glanced at him, did a double-take, and called him by name. It was his stepsister, Clara, who he had not seen in seven years. She said his name a second time, louder and more certain, before rushing over and throwing her arms around him.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± she asked. ¡°It¡¯s been forever since anyone has seen or heard from you.¡± Suddenly she noticed his eyepatch. ¡°My God, honey, what happened to your eye? Oh, Horace.¡±


    Horace responded with his usual refrain. ¡°Someone had to close up shop.¡±


    ¡°But your eye¡­¡± Clara said.


    ¡°It was a war, Clara. Everyone lost something.¡±


    Clara nodded. She reached out with both hands to hold his face. ¡°Why haven¡¯t you written anyone?¡±


    Horace ignored the question. ¡°How¡¯s Marvin?¡±


    Clara sighed. ¡°Oh, he¡¯s still getting used to his artificial hand. He prefers to wear a hook because, he says, it makes him feel like a pirate. I¡¯m working here to make a little money while he figures out what to do with his life.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll come see him,¡± said Horace. Then, remembering his hunger, he asked, ¡°Can I get something to eat?¡±


    ¡°Of course. Anything you like.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have any money,¡± said Horace. ¡°Someone stole my wallet on the train.¡±


    Clara rolled her eyes. ¡°Oh, please. Don¡¯t worry about the money. You know better than that.¡±


    Horace ordered a traditional Ippolacian breakfast of cornbread with butter, fried eggs, sausage, and tea. After calling the order back to the kitchen, Clara led Horace to a table. She opened her mouth, hesitated, and then tried again. ¡°Does Abbelina know you¡¯re here?¡± she asked.


    ¡°No. She¡¯s first on my list though.¡±


    Clara raised her eyebrows. ¡°You know she¡¯s been worried sick about you. You haven¡¯t written her in more than three years. She thinks you¡¯re dead.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    Clara eyed him carefully. ¡°Go easy on her, Horace.¡±


    Horace stared back at her, saying nothing.


    Clara tried again. ¡°You know, during the war couples were often separated for seven, eight, nine years. People got lonely. And scared. Most folks found comfort elsewhere. I¡¯m not saying it was right, but keep the circumstances in mind.¡± She paused. ¡°Guilt and anger don¡¯t benefit anyone.¡±


    ¡°I stayed loyal because that¡¯s what I promised,¡± Horace observed.


    ¡°I know,¡± replied Clara. ¡°No one expected anything else. Your goodness will be the death of you.¡±


    Clara terminated their conversation when she noticed that Horace¡¯s order was up. After placing a veritable feast before him, she said, ¡°I¡¯ll let you eat in peace while I finish setting up for breakfast.¡±


    Although Horace tried to eat with some dignity, his hunger quickly overwhelmed his sense of decorum. As he shoveled the food into his mouth, he noticed a boy and his father across the street sorting out copies of the local newspaper for morning delivery. For whatever reason ¨C emotional exhaustion, mostly ¨C the sight triggered Horace¡¯s most painful and embarrassing memory. Four years earlier, in an eastern Allerian town called Sohann, Horace had threatened a man with summary execution unless he divulged information that seemed important at the time. To Horace¡¯s frustration, the man stubbornly and stoically refused to talk. A crowd gathered in his defense, followed by Rowowan troops commanded by an officer who insisted that Horace resolve the problem so they could get on with the war. If Horace had had some quiet time to gather his thoughts, nothing would have happened. But he was angry and frustrated with both his personal life and the war. When the crowd surged forward, Horace shot the man in the head. The shock and disgust he felt overwhelmed him, and he threw up right there. Everyone stopped and looked at him in horror. Then a wailing young boy ran past Horace to cradle his dead father¡¯s head as the blood bubbled out of his skull. As the memory flooded his mind, Horace started to shake, then heave, and finally sob uncontrollably. His fork fell out of his hand to the floor and he knocked over his cup of tea.


    Clara rushed over as soon as she saw him shaking. She had witnessed more than one veteran break down, including her husband, so she knew not to talk or ask questions. Instead, she held his head to her chest and let him cry. It was always sad to watch the war claim yet another victim, but it was especially heart rendering in Horace¡¯s case because he so prided himself on his self-control. After several minutes, Horace regained his composure, but his repeated apologies indicated that his recovery was more apparent than real.


    Clara finally interrupted him: ¡°Horace. Horace! It¡¯s okay.¡± She grabbed a clean fork, wiped up the spilled tea, and poured him another cup. ¡°One thing at a time. Finish your breakfast.¡±


    When Horace was done, Clara returned from her duties, kissed him on the top of his head, and said, ¡°Go see your wife. Get some sleep. Marvin and I will check up on you later.¡±


    Daylight was breaking by the time Horace left the diner. It was also snowing again in big, heavy flakes. Still embarrassed by his emotional outburst, Horace bundled up and headed across the village square. As he passed the cemetery, he wondered how many of his old friends now resided there courtesy of the war. He walked down Rosser Street until he spotted his house, a one-story brick dwelling not much different from all the others on the block. He also noticed a light on in the kitchen, and then recognized his wife standing at the window over the sink. She was thinner and paler than he remembered, wearing an ill-fitting dress. She was staring at the playground across the road.


    Horace walked to the front door, but then hesitated, unsure whether to knock. On the one hand, it was his house, but on the other hand he had not lived there for years, so in that respect it was far more her house than his. After mulling it over for a few moments, he compromised by simultaneously knocking and opening the door into the living room.


    Abbelina saw him as he strode in. She called out his name, ran over to him, and hugged him tight. When he failed to respond, she pulled back, embarrassed. She stood awkwardly in front of him for a moment, shocked by his missing eye and wondering whether to comment on it. Finally, she asked, ¡°When did you get here? How did you get here?¡±


    Horace glanced around the living room. ¡°The train brought me in late last night to Digby. Actually, it was early this morning. I walked from there.¡±


    ¡°You walked here from Digby!¡± she exclaimed. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you call me? I would have come get you.¡±This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Horace looked at her. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to wake you up. I left my duffel bag there though.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± she said, ¡°you must be hungry. Let me fix you breakfast.¡±


    ¡°No need,¡± he stated. ¡°I stopped at that diner on the square. Clara fed me.¡±


    Abbelina seemed disappointed. ¡°Oh, alright. I was getting ready to go to mom¡¯s house so we can run errands in Digby and Lerrando. She bought a car last year. Let me run over and cancel.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± replied Horace. ¡°Don¡¯t bother. I haven¡¯t slept much in two days. I¡¯m very tired. Go run your errands with your mom. We can talk when you get back and I wake up.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± she said, ¡°You can sleep in the bedroom. It¡¯s at the end of the hall.¡±


    Horace gave her a puzzled look. ¡°I used to live here, Abbelina. I know where the bedroom is.¡±


    Abbelina became flustered. ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°Anyway,¡± Horace continued, ¡°I think I¡¯ll just sleep on the couch. The bedroom seems¡­tainted.¡±


    Abbelina froze, then looked away from him. ¡°Okay. Of course.¡± She grabbed her purse, moved to the doorway, and stood there for a moment. ¡°It¡¯s so good to see you, Horace. I¡¯m so glad you¡¯re home.¡±


    As soon as Abbelina left for her mom¡¯s, Horace sat down on the couch, took off his boots, and contemplated the house he had spent more time away from than living in. After several minutes, he got up and walked down the hall to the bathroom. When he finished, he peaked into the bedroom. As far as he was concerned, it as the scene of the crime that destroyed his marriage, but he still had a morbid curiosity about it. He noticed immediately that something was not right. Abbelina was hardly the neatest person in the world, but the bedroom was immaculate. Everything was in perfect order. Then Horace realized that a thin layer of dust covered all the room¡¯s contents. She obviously had not been in here for some time. Horace shook his head and retreated back down the hallway. On his way he stared into a second room. He and Abbelina had used it as a study when they first married, with plans to convert it into a bedroom when kids arrived. Unlike the master bedroom, this one had clearly been lived in. It contained a cot covered by a thin sheet, a wooden chair, and had books and sewing materials scattered everywhere. Puzzled, Horace headed back to the couch, lay down, and was soon fast asleep.


    When Abbelina returned hours later, she accidently dropped Horace¡¯s duffel bag on the floor. Horace woke with a start and sat up. Abbelina apologized, but her forced smile turned to concern after she got a good look at him.


    ¡°Horace,¡± she asked, ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    Before he could respond, he succumbed to a fit of bloody coughing. Abbelina ran to the kitchen and returned with a damp towel. By then Horace¡¯s face and hands were dripping with blood, and blood was splattered over the walls and floor. She covered his mouth with the towel and led him down the hall to the master bedroom. She pulled back the dusty blankets, lay him down, stripped him to his underwear, and then rushed for the phone to summon Dr. Ninninger. By the time he arrived fifteen minutes later, Horace was barely conscious.


    After examining him, Dr. Ninninger diagnosed him with Liosian fever, named after the Ethosian town where Rowowan doctors first identified it. ¡°Well,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯ve given him something for the fever and cough, but there¡¯s not much else we can do for now. It¡¯s serious, but hopefully the fever will burn itself out. Until then, he may become delirious. Best thing you can do is keep him cool, calm, and quiet. I¡¯ll check on him tomorrow, but if there¡¯s any change, call me immediately.¡± As he gathered up his things, Dr. Ninninger asked Abbelina, ¡°When did he get back? I assumed he had died in the war.¡±


    Abbelina shrugged. ¡°He showed up this morning out of the blue, like Lazarus walking out of the tomb.¡±


    Horace began hallucinating soon after Dr. Ninninger left. After she cleaned up the mess in the living room, Abbelina sat with him and held his hand. At first she was hard-pressed to make heads or tails out of his ranting, but eventually she recognized a disturbing pattern to it. He focused on three distinct events, repeating them over and over, as if caught in a psychological loop. The first revolved around some town called Sohann. Abbelina was not sure what happened there, but it was obviously something terrible that included a child, something about which Horace was deeply ashamed. The second event sounded more fantastical, involving a remote island, a hidden princess, spies, and a battle for which Horace felt responsible. Because he seemed like an integral part to this amazing story, Abbelina was inclined to relegate it to the fictional ravings of a feverish man. On the other hand, she was thoroughly familiar with the last event he repeatedly referenced: her infidelity. In his delirium he labeled her a ¡°whore,¡± ¡°harlot,¡± and ¡°jezebel.¡± She was shocked by an anger in him that she never knew existed. She wanted to blame it on the war¡¯s brutality, but she knew in her heart that she was the cause of this hatred. The knowledge of what she had done to him and how he now felt about her made her cry and leave the room several times, but she always returned out of a sense of obligation to nurse him through this illness. It seemed like the least she could do.


    After several hours of this on-and-off verbal abuse, Abbelina was physically and emotionally exhausted and at a loss of what to do. Finally, in desperation, she stripped naked, slipped under the sheets with him, and held him tight. To her surprise, he calmed down almost immediately. He ceased ranting and raving, tossing and turning. His breathing steadied and his coughing stopped. Within a half hour they were both asleep.


    Abbelina woke first next morning with her head on Horace¡¯s chest. He was not coughing and his fever had broken. Curious, she examined his body. Leaving his eyepatch undisturbed, she traced with her fingers the trail of shrapnel scars down from his face to his stomach.


    Horace opened his eye. ¡°Where am I?¡±


    ¡°What do you remember?¡± Abbelina asked.


    Horace looked around the room. ¡°I remember you returned home with my duffel bag. I remember coughing. That¡¯s it.¡±


    ¡°That was yesterday, Horace.¡± She sighed and returned to the crook of his arm for several increasingly awkward minutes. Finally, she announced, ¡°I will make us breakfast while you shower.¡±


    As she exited the bed, she was suddenly conscious of her nakedness, so she slipped rapidly into her nightgown. At the same time, though, she was somewhat offended that he averted his gaze ¨C as if they were not husband and wife.


    The food shortages caused by the war were only now easing, so Abbelina¡¯s pantry was bare. Moreover, she was ashamed that she did not remember Horace¡¯s favorite dishes. She did her best, though: scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast. She was putting breakfast on the table when Horace emerged, tugging at his ill-fitting civilian clothes. They ate in tension-filled silence until Abbelina finally spoke, ¡°You said the craziest things last night.¡±


    Horace continued eating. ¡°I¡¯m sure I was delirious. I don¡¯t remember any of it.¡±


    ¡°Well, you said some very hateful things about me¡­about what I did.¡± She paused for a minute. ¡°Why can¡¯t you forgive me?¡±


    ¡°Abbelina, you can¡¯t hold me responsible for what I said under those conditions. And I forgave you a long time ago.¡±


    Abbelina persisted. ¡°But it came from somewhere inside you. And you hadn¡¯t contacted me in three years. Three years, Horace. You say you¡¯ve forgiven me, but you clearly haven¡¯t.¡±


    Horace put down his fork and looked at her. ¡°Abbelina, you never wanted forgiveness. You wanted validation. You didn¡¯t show remorse, just regret.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    Horace was unsure how much to say, so he started cautiously and felt his way forward. ¡°Four years ago you came to camp to see me. You were three months pregnant. You said that you had been with someone else, but wouldn¡¯t tell me his name ¨C as if I wouldn¡¯t know. Nor would you tell me the details of your transgressions, or what you planned to do. Sure, you wanted forgiveness, but on your terms and your timetable. You wanted a forgiveness that didn¡¯t require any sacrifice or suffering on your part.¡±


    Abbelina¡¯s face reddened and she slammed her hand down on the table. ¡°You have no idea how much I¡¯ve suffered, or how much humiliation I¡¯ve endured!¡± She felt a sudden urge to hurt him for his ignorance. ¡°I felt shame when I agreed to go to the dance with him. I felt shame when he kissed me afterwards and I kissed him back. I felt shame when we walked home and I asked him inside. I felt shame when I begged for his touch. I felt shame the next morning when I pleaded with him to stay. I felt shame when I realized that the entire town knew what I had done. I felt shame when I saw his girlfriend at church and did not give a damn about her feelings. And I felt shame when I discovered I was pregnant.¡±


    Abbelina stopped to catch her breath. ¡°I got on that train and traveled for hundreds of miles to see you at that godforsaken camp to beg your forgiveness. You said you forgave me, but the next morning you were gone. When I left for home, all your army friends were there to see me off. Do you know what they did to me? Did they tell you? They threw mud and horseshit at me as I boarded the train! I had to return to Rowowa in a car covered in horseshit with a bunch of wives and girlfriends who knew exactly what I had done. When I got home no one would talk to me. Worse yet, everyone held me responsible for Keith¡¯s death, not the Allerian army.¡± Her voice broke into a sob. ¡°Then I lost the baby, and the doctor told me I could never have children. So don¡¯t tell me I haven¡¯t suffered enough!¡±


    She paused before sticking the knife in further. ¡°Besides, from what I heard you say last night, your sins were worse than mine.¡±


    Horace interrupted her. ¡°First of all, don¡¯t compare your transgressions to mine. For eight years I lived in a world of¡­moral ambiguity. For eight years I tried to pick the least bad option. For eight years I attempted to do the right thing when there was no right thing. You, on the other hand, were motivated by lust, pure and simple. Secondly, you aren¡¯t being completely truthful. You did not learn about Keith¡¯s death until after you boarded that train to see me. You didn¡¯t get on that train to seek my forgiveness. You got on that train to end our marriage, but had to change tactics when you discovered that your lover was dead.¡±


    Abbelina started to respond, but then threw up her hands in frustration. Horace continued. ¡°Tonight I¡¯m going to stay with Clara and Marvin. Then I¡¯ll go to Forest City to find work. Once I¡¯ve settled in there, I¡¯ll get a lawyer to draw up the divorce papers for you to sign. You can keep the house. I¡¯ll collect my stuff today. There¡¯s not much here I want or need ¨C or even remember. I¡¯ll visit the bank before I leave town. We can split our savings equally, and I¡¯ll send you an allowance until you remarry. I think it¡¯s the best solution. We can each get fresh starts and maybe put the war behind us.¡±


    Horace got up and left the kitchen, found a box in a closet, and secluded himself in their storage room to rummage through his belongings. While he did so, Abbelina remained seated at the kitchen table for a long time. She had hoped that if he forgave her ¨C truly, publicly, forgave her ¨C she could have a chance at a normal life, a life without the scorn and shame she sensed everywhere she went. That chance, though, was slipping away before her eyes. She did not know what to do or say to retrieve it, so she just sat and listened to Horace move back and forth from the storage room to the living room. Finally, she got up, made tea, put the pot and two cups on a tray, walked into the living room, sat on the floor beside Horace, and offered him some.


    ¡°Is it poisoned?¡± he asked.


    ¡°No, no poison.¡±


    As she poured the tea, she noticed that he was holding an old photograph of her, taken at a park while they were dating. In it she was young and smiling.


    ¡°I always liked this photo,¡± he said. ¡°I took it the day I decided that I loved you.¡±


    ¡°You should keep it,¡± she said.


    ¡°No,¡± he sighed, mostly to himself. ¡°I wish I could erase the last dozen years of my life.¡±


    She noticed that he included both the war and their marriage among his regrets, but let it pass. ¡°Don¡¯t leave, Horace. Please stay. I¡¯ll do whatever you want, whatever it takes, but please stay with me.¡±


    Horace leaned back against the sofa. ¡°I don¡¯t understand why you want me to stay. You never loved me as much as I loved you. You carried a torch for him before and after we married, only I was too smitten to see it. You married me because he had a girlfriend and you wanted to prove something to someone. Why do you want this?¡±


    Abbelina thought carefully, recognizing this as her last opportunity to salvage her marriage. ¡°You¡¯re right, Horace. You were my second choice. I preferred him. I don¡¯t know why, now. He seemed so exciting and devil-may-care. He had what I wanted, but I guess I convinced myself that you had what I needed. You were loyal, predictable, stable, reliable¡­.¡±


    ¡°But boring,¡± Horace said.


    ¡°Abbelina smiled. ¡°Well, maybe a little. They¡¯re traits I once denigrated, but now that I¡¯m older I appreciate them. When people learned that I had not been faithful you, the women who treated me the worst were the ones who had also cheated on their husbands. I hated them for their hypocrisy. But then I realized that they were so mean to me because they respected you so much. They knew you would never do such a thing. They knew what I was throwing away.¡±


    Horace said, ¡°No woman ever loved a man for his virtue. You can¡¯t unring that bell. You did what you did. It¡¯s done.¡±


    Abbelina tried another tack. ¡°What about your promise to love and honor me?¡±


    ¡°You broke that contract years ago. I don¡¯t see how I¡¯m bound by it now. Maybe things would have been different without the war¡­¡±


    Abbelina said, ¡°I wish you had never gone to war. I wish that you had found some way to stay home.¡±


    ¡°Well, I had to do my duty.¡± He sipped his tea. ¡°I couldn¡¯t walk away from that. It wouldn¡¯t have been right for everyone else to go while I stayed behind.¡±


    Abbelina looked up him. ¡°What about your duty to your marriage? Not to me, but to the marriage. The empire treated you terribly and you still remained loyal to it. I treated you badly as well, but I want to make amends. Can¡¯t you be loyal to the marriage?¡±


    For the first time in the conversation Horace hesitated. He had not thought of it that way and was unsure how to respond. Abbelina saw the opening immediately and pressed forward to exploit it. ¡°How can you reconcile ending our marriage with your principles?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not that easy,¡± said Horace. ¡°Maybe I could forgive you and stay, but the resentment I still feel would poison the relationship. Maybe not today, or even next week, but eventually.¡±


    Abbelina replied, ¡°I¡¯m not asking you to stay for life. Just stay for one day. Promise me one day. If you can¡¯t live with it, then leave. But just give me one day for now. One day, Horace.¡±


    Horace remained silent for a long time. ¡°Okay.¡±


    Horace¡¯s dramatic decision led to a surprisingly muted coda. Dr. Ninninger came by and was pleased with Horace¡¯s recovery. Horace and Abbelina ate an early supper in silence, after which he helped her wash the dishes, just as he had before the war. She suggested a walk around town, but another snowstorm and Horace¡¯s recurring cough precluded it. Instead, they sat in the living room and read as darkness fell. Abbelina found the quiet disconcerting and wondered if he was serious about staying. Finally, she asked if he wanted to play chess. Their mutual love of the game had helped bring them together before they married. However, Abbelina could never understand how someone so logical and methodical could play so poorly. Once they started, Abbelina realized that eight years of war had had little impact on his abilities. She defeated him in a little under an hour. He accepted his loss with his usual stoicism.


    Shortly afterwards a clearly tired Horace announced that he was retiring for the night.


    Abbelina stood up, hesitated, and asked, ¡°Where will we sleep?¡±


    Horace scratched his chin. ¡°Well, I¡¯m not ready to share a bed with you, so I¡¯m going to sleep on the sofa.¡±


    Abbelina was disappointed, but declined to reopen a discussion about their marriage. She kissed him on the top of his head and started down the hallway. As she turned into her room, Horace called after her, ¡°You should sleep in our old bedroom, not on that cot. I may not be ready to act like a husband, but you can start acting like a wife.¡±


    Despite their eight-year separation, next morning Horace and Abbelina resumed their old routines and habits. Without discussion they ate breakfast and dressed for church. However, when Abbelina emerged from her room wearing an ill-fitting and bland dress, Horace asked, ¡°Are you going to church as my wife or as a penitent whore?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Abbelina asked, shocked. ¡°I want to go as your wife.¡±


    ¡°Then go back and dress like one.¡±


    Abbelina did as he asked and put on a more fashionable, albeit somewhat dated, dress that she found in the back of her closet. Together they walked through the snow-covered sidewalks to the church, two blocks away. By now word had spread that Horace had returned, so a small crowd greeted him in the foyer. As they walked into the sanctuary, Abbelina tried to sit in the back row. She had done so for years so she could slip out after the service without a fuss. Horace, though, steered her toward their old spot on the center right side, by the aisle. Abbelina¡¯s discomfort increased when at the beginning of the service the preacher announced from the pulpit the news of Horace¡¯s homecoming and urged everyone to say hello to him up front afterwards.


    As soon as the service ended, Horace took Abbelina by the arm and maneuvered her to the front of the sanctuary to meet the people queuing up to see him. As the first congregants approached, Abbelina tried to squirm away to escape the approaching spotlight and the accompanying embarrassment. Horace, though, held on to her arm tight and whispered to her to smile and look everyone directly in the eye. When people in ones and twos drew near, Horace greeted them warmly and introduced Abbelina to each one as his wife. Everyone got the implied message and responded in kind. Abbelina¡¯s eyes welled up as she exchanged pleasantries with people with whom she had not spoken in years.


    By the time Horace and Abbelina started for home, it was snowing again. As they walked through the flurries, Abbelina broke down and cried from the relief of several years of accumulated stress. Horace said nothing until they reached their house. After putting on hot water for tea, he removed her boots and stockings and rubbed her cold feet.

 17. The Searcher

    Chapter Seventeen


    THE SEARCHER


    The ferry edged into Hollyoake harbor and slowly pulled up to the dock. A tall, balding, and aesthetic-looking man was among the disembarking passengers. He was dressed in old but neat clothes and carried himself with the dignity and authority of someone sure of his position in life. Michael Kargas went by neither his real name nor the one Rowowan army intelligence had bestowed upon him. As soon as he could, Kargas had used some of the money Horace had given him to purchase a new false identity card from a sketchy character in Emerald City. That was not the only thing he did to ensure that the Rowowans were not monitoring him. He went to great lengths to make certain no one followed him. He never stayed in one place for long, spent his money frugally, kept a low profile, and refrained from contacting anyone he knew. Somewhat to his shock, he found anonymity easy to obtain.


    Considering his obsessiveness and commitment to the Allerian cause, it was unsurprising that Kargas soon made his way to Hollyoake. He told himself that he was doing so to pay his respects to Princess Iona, but there was more to it than that. Kargas did not like uncertainty, and there was plenty of ambiguity regarding Iona¡¯s suicide that he wanted to clear up. The most obvious questions were the lack of a corpse and Horace¡¯s taciturnity. Kargas could not understand why the Rowowans were so quick to declare Iona dead without a body. Moreover, although Kargas had found Horace¡¯s volubility annoying during their chess matches in prison, the overlord never volunteered anything about Iona. When Kargas broached the topic once, Horace changed the subject immediately. Kargas simply could not shake the feeling that Iona¡¯s fate was not as clear-cut as people said. Whatever his motives, Kargas felt compelled to travel to Hollyoake just to see for himself whether that avenue to Allerian independence was really closed.


    Kargas checked into the Palisades Hotel. He spent several days at Hollyoake¡¯s public library reading everything he could find on Iona¡¯s suicide. Indeed, the backcopies of the local newspapers were full of stories, interviews, personal accounts, commentaries, and public records about that tragic event. Kargas also visited the hotel room where Iona spent her last day and rowed around Lake Wagner on the same kind of boat she had used. Claiming to be an author, he talked with as many people as he could locate who interacted with her, including the hotel clerk and maid. He took careful notes on everything he read and heard.


    Kargas long ago realized that answers to difficult questions rarely reveal themselves quickly or easily. They instead come slowly and painfully, in bits and pieces, if at all. Revelation was akin to assembling a jigsaw puzzle whose form comes into focus gradually, then all at once. He tried to keep that in mind as he spoke with the young man who had rented Iona the boat that fateful morning.


    ¡°Is there anything you can tell me, something that you might have forgotten to tell the police ¨C or anyone else?¡± Kargas asked.


    ¡°No, sir,¡± he replied. ¡°I¡¯ve told this story a dozen times. There really wasn¡¯t much to it.¡±


    Kargas paused. ¡°Okay, well, thanks for your time.¡± As he turned to walk away, a thought struck him. ¡°Say, what can you tell me about that one-eyed guy who also came in that day?¡±


    The young man thought for a moment. ¡°Well, I mostly remember the eyepatch and the scars on his face. He had a slight limp, but not enough to slow him down, though he did trip over a box when he returned the boat.¡±


    Kargas smiled ever so slightly at the thought, any thought, of the overlord¡¯s discomfiture, but tried not to show it. ¡°Well, I understand he was a wounded veteran.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but it wasn¡¯t the limp that caused it; it was that chain he was carrying.¡±


    Kargas narrowed his eyes. ¡°Chain? Why did he take a chain out onto the lake?¡±


    The young man shrugged. ¡°He didn¡¯t, but he brought one back with him.¡±


    Kargas knew instinctively that this was important. ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. When he rented the boat he had both hands on the counter when he looked at the brochure. No chain then.¡±


    ¡°Did you tell the police this?¡±


    ¡°No. No one asked.¡±


    Kargas walked back to his hotel, brewed up some tea, and sipped it as his mind worked the chain into the problem. Iona had taken a chain with her, and allegedly used it to lash herself to the cinderblock that she threw over the side of her boat. Kargas wondered how Horace had gotten the chain after Iona employed it to commit suicide? To Kargas, the obvious answer was that she was not dead at all. Kargas grabbed a map from his desk and unfolded it. The nearest train station was only a half mile from the eastern part of the lake. Horace had faked her death.


    Kargas knew in his gut that he was right. He was pleased with himself for solving the mystery that Horace Oxenstera had created. Now that he had convinced himself that Iona was in fact alive, Kargas turned his mind to unravelling why she had gone along with Horace¡¯s ruse. Kargas guessed that Horace had offered her the same deal that he had presented to him at that restaurant in Mollyfield a few months earlier: anonymity and a chance to start a new life in exchange for tacitly acknowledging Rowowa¡¯s conquest of Alleria. Kargas assumed that Iona accepted the agreement rather than go to prison. If so, she was probably somewhere in Alleria, Valgor, or Ethosia, perhaps looking for him.


    If Iona was in fact still alive ¨C and Kargas was sure she was ¨C then he felt that he had an obligation to contact her that superseded any implied promises he made to Horace. Finding her, though, would not be easy. Kargas realized that he needed money and time to locate her. He had plenty of the latter, but a diminishing amount of the former. Fortunately, he knew someone with access to the resources he needed: Lloyd Juganhouse, the mayor of Kirkwell.


    Decisive ever, Kargas departed for Kirkwell as soon as he had concluded that he needed Juganhouse¡¯s assistance. He boarded a train for Haddonsburg and then hopped on a ferry for the trip across the Valgor Strait to the island. He disembarked in the late afternoon and walked up the hill toward city hall. Although he lived on Kirkwell for nearly a year, he had no emotional attachment to the island ¨C or any place, really. It had been simply a means to an end. On the other hand, he worried that someone might identify him. To be sure, he had acquired a slight limp during his time in prison that had altered his gait. He hoped that this, as well as his shabby clothes, would provide sufficient anonymity, but he knew it was risky. As he trudged along, he was surprised by the buzz of activity around him. Workers were busy expanding the docks and widening the road to the warehouses. New businesses dotted what had recently been a swampy field. Kargas had heard that the city sustained considerable damage in the previous year¡¯s battle, but there was almost no evidence of it now.


    At city hall Kargas learned from Juganhouse¡¯s secretary that the mayor had already left for home. He followed her directions to Juganhouse¡¯s new house on the hill where the old stables were once located. He arrived just in time to see Juganhouse emerge from his car. His tailored suit did not disguise the weight he had obviously put on. Juganhower initially looked alarmed to see this scruffy-looking man limping toward him, but a grin spread across his face when he recognized Kargas.


    ¡°Mr. Kargas!¡± he exclaimed as he extended his hand. ¡°I never thought I would see you again. I heard that you had disappeared into a Rowowan prison forever.¡±


    ¡°I was in prison,¡± Kargas responded. ¡°But not forever.¡± Shaking Juganhouse¡¯s hand, he continued, ¡°Can we go someplace quiet to talk?¡±This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Juganhouse led Kargas into his house and to his study. The place was still a work in progress. Wet plaster dotted the walls, fixtures were exposed, and there were no doors. Although Kargas was not ordinarily one to pay attention to such trappings, he noticed a certain extravagance and decadence to the place that he found disturbing.


    ¡°Nice house,¡± Kargas said after he and Juganhouse sat down.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Juganhouse responded. ¡°I expect to be here for awhile, so I decided to put down more permanent roots. And even if I do end up back in Aurora, I can sell it for a tidy profit.¡±


    Kargas looked out the window at the unfinished landscaping. ¡°Municipal government has been good to you.¡±


    Juganhouse paused, trying to gauge the amount of sarcasm in Kargas¡¯s voice. ¡°Yes, it has. I¡¯ve worked hard for this island.¡±


    Kargas suddenly remembered that he was here for help, not to judge his former lieutenant¡¯s lifestyle, so he changed the subject, ¡°The town certainly looks happy and prosperous.¡±


    ¡°Yes, it is,¡± said Juganhouse, equally relieved to discuss other matters. ¡°A Rowowan shipping conglomerate bought up much of the port and is spending a great deal of money to modernize it. It provides lots of jobs and tax dollars for public works. We¡¯re building a new school. Maybe a new city hall, too.¡±


    ¡°Are the Rowowans difficult to work¡­with?¡± Kargas asked.


    Juganhouse¡¯s sarcasm detector went off again. ¡°Well, they¡¯re not as hands-off as Horace Oxenstera was, that¡¯s for sure. There¡¯s a team of Rowowans here to ¡®help¡¯ us, one for public safety, one for economic development, one for public health, and so forth. The overlord sticks his nose into everything. However, once we learn their specific agenda, then it¡¯s easy to manipulate them to suit our purposes, like we did with Horace Oxenstera. We take advantage of them to promote the Allerian cause and the welfare of the Allerian people.¡±


    Kargas nodded politely, but wondered who was using whom.


    Juganhouse sensed his doubt and changed the subject again. ¡°I was very sorry to hear about the royal twins. It shouldn¡¯t have ended like that for them. They deserved better.¡±


    ¡°Yes, well, Rael¡¯s death was a tragedy,¡± said Kargas. ¡°But Iona¡¯s fate is more complicated. I believe that she¡¯s still alive.¡±


    Kargas explained his reasoning to a skeptical Juganhouse. When he finished, he said, ¡°I know it¡¯s a long shot, but if she¡¯s alive, then I am obligated to find her. Doing so requires resources ¨C money.¡±


    ¡°Most of my money is tied up in this house, but you can have whatever cash I have,¡± said Juganhouse.


    Kargas held up his hand. ¡°No, I can¡¯t walk around with large amounts of cash. I need a bank account with a reliable line of credit that I can access wherever I go. Can we arrange something like that with Fitz Hollander over at the bank?¡±


    Juganhouse pursed his lips. ¡°It¡¯s not as easy as it used to be. There are now lots of Rowowan banking rules and regulations in place. The accounts we used when you were here are frozen. There¡¯s also a Rowowan official at the bank who must approve of all major accounts and transactions.¡±


    ¡°Any ideas?¡± Kargas asked.


    ¡°Well,¡± said Juganhouse. ¡°Perhaps Hollander can surreptitiously transfer the assets from the frozen accounts. We can find someone on the island to set up a small account in his or her name and keep it replenished. It would take a couple weeks for the usual Rowowan bureaucratic reasons.¡±


    Kargas shook his head. I cannot stay that long. Someone might recognize me.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± said Juganhouse. ¡°We¡¯ll mail or telegraph you the account number, hide it in some innocuous message.¡±


    Kargas shook his head again. ¡°No, I don¡¯t trust the Rowowan post office. Is it possible that someone trustworthy can bring me the account number? I¡¯m going to Aurora next, so he can meet me there in a few weeks.¡±


    ¡°I know just the person,¡± said Juganhouse.


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Norma Craddock. She hates the Rowowans and she¡¯s been talking about going to Aurora to visit some relative there. Moreover, her sister died a couple months ago and she¡¯s been looking for something to do. Finally, as a woman she¡¯ll attract less attention.¡±


    Kargas thought about it and nodded. ¡°Ask her to be in Aurora three weeks from today. Ask her to check into the Presidio Hotel under her name. I will find her there.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± said Juganhouse. And if for some reason she can¡¯t make it, I¡¯ll send someone else under her name with the account number.¡±


    They sat in silence for a moment. Finally, Kargas said, ¡°I cannot stay. I am going to catch the last ferry to Rahway.¡±


    As he got up to leave, Juganhouse had some advice for him. ¡°Mr. Kargas,¡± said Juganhouse. ¡°Please be careful. I¡¯ve managed to keep Kirkwell safe and prosperous, but the island is an exception. Law and order are collapsing throughout much of Alleria, especially in the southern wastelands. The Syndicate movement is growing more powerful down there with each passing day. But not just there. It¡¯s not even safe to go to the Heath. The Rowowans simply don¡¯t have the resources to exert their authority over Alleria. Indeed, they¡¯re having trouble maintaining order in Rowowa.¡±


    Juganhouse watched Kargas exit the house and walk down the road to the docks. Although he greatly admired the adviser, Juganhouse also believed that he was a throwback to a different era. There was no room in this new world for royalty and their advisers. They were complications neither he nor the good people of Kirkwell could afford. The next day he visited Fitz Hollander and Norma Craddock to establish the bank account and the delivery of its number to Kargas. Then he walked over to the overlord¡¯s office and revealed everything he knew about Kargas¡¯s mission.


    After taking his leave from Juganhouse, Kargas hurried down to the dock just in time to catch the day¡¯s last ferry leaving for Rahway. He spent the night there in a dingy hotel, then took a train for Aurora. It was Kargas¡¯s first time in the city since Alleria¡¯s surrender. Because he was there for practical, not sentimental reasons, he refrained from visiting old friends. Instead, every day he trudged over to the public library, holed up in a carrel in the basement away from prying eyes, and poured over material. He examined demographic information, railway and ferry schedules, climatic data, regional geography, and employment tables. He threw all this information into his mental hopper, as well as everything he remembered about Iona¡¯s tastes, desires, fears, and so forth. He doubted that she would return to Alleria ¨C too risky. As for Ethosia, the war had reduced its standard of living to just above subsistence level. Iona liked her amenities too much to go there. That left Valgor. She was familiar with the country, and it possessed a large exile population she could use for comfort, familiarity, and help. And of course it was not under Rowowan control. Her time in Kirkwell¡¯s school showed that she enjoyed administrative work, so she likely found a job along those lines. Her fondness for urbanity and the ocean meant that she probably chose to live in a coastal community. When he finished sifting through all this information, Kargas came up with a list of a half dozen Valgoran cities in which Iona might make a home.


    The day before he was supposed to meet with Norma Craddock at the Presidio Hotel, Kargas retrieved one last piece of information vital to his search for Princess Iona. He left his carrel and walked to the library¡¯s reference section to locate an old misplaced biography on an obscure Ethosian nobleman. The library contained no record of it because Kargas had removed its cards from the catalog two years earlier. There, in the middle of its pages, Kargas found the rarest of all items: an accurate, unmarked, and clear photograph of Princess Iona.


    The next morning Kargas packed his few belongings and checked out of the fleabag hotel at which he had been staying. Despite the poor conditions, he was optimistic about the future. Iona was alive and he intended to find her. He carefully tucked Iona¡¯s photo inside his jacket pocket and plunged into Aurora¡¯s busy streets. He spent his last cash on breakfast before walking over to the Presidio Hotel. He watched people come and go for an hour until he concluded that nothing was amiss. Finally, he entered the building and asked the clerk for Norma Craddock¡¯s room number. He went upstairs and quietly knocked on her door, calling her by name. He was relieved to hear her tell him to come in. When he opened the door, though, he saw her sitting on a chair in the middle of the room with fear in her eyes. Before Kargas could register anything else, a man emerged from the closet and shot him in the head with a revolver at close range. Kargas was dead before his body hit the floor. Norma screamed. Another man standing nearby tried for a couple seconds to calm her, but gave up and gunned her down as well. The two assassins grabbed her purse and slipped out of the room and down the backstairs. They quickly blended into Aurora¡¯s human cacophony and disappeared. Within an hour they reached the post office and reported the success of their mission.


    The sound of the two gunshots brought hotel staff to the room within minutes, where they discovered the two still-warm bodies. The police arrived within the hour. They had little to go on. The dead man¡¯s identification papers were false and his only relevant possession was a photograph of a regal woman who looked nothing like the other victim. He appeared to be one of the thousands of down-on-his-luck veterans who had failed to find a place in the Rowowan empire. The murdered woman, for her part, was obviously of higher status, but the address she provided turned out to be false. Perhaps she was a love-starved war widow meeting up with an old beau who had gotten into trouble? Unfortunately for the cause of justice, the police did not have the time or resources to investigate much further. There was after all a crime wave sweeping through the city and rioters to keep at bay. The authorities burned their belongings, filed a cursory report, and buried their bodies in a paupers¡¯ field.

 18. The Lawman

    Chapter Eighteen


    THE LAWMAN


    Three years had passed since the royal twins¡¯ deaths. In Alleria, instability and unrest continued unabated. The People¡¯s Syndicate, a violent populist movement born in the war¡¯s ashes, was overrunning the southern wastelands and extending its reach into Ethosia. Internal stresses made it increasingly difficult for Rowowa to exercise its authority throughout its empire. One of the war¡¯s most popular and successful generals, James Yeocomico, had dissolved the dysfunctional imperial council and was ruling by decree. As a military man, though, he had little understanding of the delicate compromises, traditions, and unspoken rules that had helped hold the empire together. Instead, his heavy-handed efforts to reestablish law and order had prompted some of the provinces to resist centralized control. Regional strongmen emerged to challenge Yeocomico and collude with foreign powers that circled, vulture-like, around what they hoped would soon be the corpse of the Rowowan empire.


    Little of this made much of an impact on Karl Lattamore. He was uninterested in the rarified world of international affairs. As Kargas¡¯s most trusted lieutenant during the latter half of the Allerian War, he had seen the seedy side of politics and knew not to place too much faith in it. To be sure, he admired some of the individuals who operated in that arena. For example, he thought the world of Kargas, who had taught him much about self-control, dispassion, simplicity, and the ruthless implementation of plans. As a group, though, he believed that elites were selfish men intent on dominating everyone else. His goal in life was to find a place where he could make a living and avoid getting caught in the geopolitical crossfire.


    Lattamore had been visiting an old friend when Valgoran police and Rowowan post office intelligence agents raided the royals¡¯ Mercia bungalow. When he returned, he saw dozens of men swarming in and out of the house. He stood with the bystanders watching the spectacle for awhile before slipping away unnoticed. He was saddened to learn the fates of his housemates. He had never really respected Iona, Rael, and Frederick, but felt that they all deserved the opportunity to live their lives as they saw fit. He believed that their inability to do so contributed to the arrogance they often demonstrated during their time on the run. As for Kargas, Lattamore had always expected the Rowowans to capture or kill him ¨C it had simply been a question of where and when. He counted himself fortunate to escape and looked forward to a more settled existence.


    A week after the raid, Lattamore learned from the newspapers that the police had released Iona¡¯s servant girl, Lana, after interrogating her. He found her penniless and distraught at a church shelter. Lattamore not only escorted her back to Aurora, but he also fell in love with her. They married a year later. Although ¨C or perhaps because ¨C she was a dozen years younger than him, Lattamore believed that he had made a good selection. Her subsequent pregnancy convinced Lattamore that he needed to find steady work to support his new family. He got a job with the new Allerian Regional Police Force. Its mission was to help local police solve major crimes ¨C murder, rape, arson, and so forth. This freed Rowowan security forces to focus on stamping out sedition, treason, and rebellion. Lattamore was aware that some considered him and his colleagues collaborators, but he figured that if someone was going to maintain law and order in Alleria, it should be Allerians.


    Lattamore was sitting at his desk in the Regional Police Force¡¯s cramped Aurora headquarters, sifting through reports of serious unsolved crimes that the Rowowans required local police stations to submit. Because of his experience and competence, Lattamore¡¯s superiors permitted him to focus on cases that piqued his interest. He noticed a report about a murder in the southern wastelands city of Borotai the previous month. There was nothing unusual about such violence in that region; law and order had almost disintegrated in the area. Instead, it was the details that caught Lattamore¡¯s attention. The killer had raped and murdered a young blonde girl, and then posed her on her back, straight up and down, with her hands tied together over her head with twine. The modus operandi was strikingly similar to that of the person who killed Brenda Furthermore and Anna Mullins.


    Lattamore¡¯s initial response was to blame Royo di Czezarchek for the murder. He did not know how or why Royo was in the southern wastelands, but he had a record of turning up in the most unlikely of places. That, thought Lattamore, was a useful talent for a rogue murderer. Just to be on the safe side, though, Lattamore ran through the list of suspects. As far as he knew, there were only six people who were around for both Brenda Furthermore¡¯s and Anna Mullins¡¯s slayings: Royo, Frederick Fitzpatrick, Lloyd Juganhouse, Michael Kargas, Prince Rael, and Princess Iona. Iona¡¯s sex and suicide disqualified her. Rael was dead. As far as he knew, Frederick and Kargas were in labor camps. Although Lattamore made a mental note to check, he was pretty sure that Juganhouse had not left Kirkwell recently ¨C certainly not for the southern wastelands. That left Royo.


    If logic ¨C or anyhow the process of elimination ¨C told Lattamore that Royo was the killer, his instincts said something else. Lattamore remembered that Royo¡¯s behavior while awaiting execution on Kirkwell had not been that of a killer. As he sat at his desk and bounced a ball against a nearby wall, Lattamore realized that he could not draw an informed conclusion until he had more information. He regretted that Kargas had shut down his investigation of Anna Mullins¡¯s murder before he could interview all the people he wanted. Mulling things over, Horace Oxenstera crossed his mind. Much though he admired Kargas, Lattamore believed that Kargas had repeatedly underestimated the overlord because it was in his best interests to do so ¨C at least in the short run. Lattamore, on the other hand, thought that Horace was a good deal more intelligent than he let on. That being the case, Lattamore wondered why Horace had risked so much to rescue Royo. Even if Royo was a Rowowan agent, he had long since outlived his usefulness by the time Horace saved him from the gallows. Perhaps Horace simply wanted to prevent what he believed was a miscarriage of justice? Doing so cost Horace his mission, maybe even his career. Lattamore suddenly had an idea. If there was controversy about Horace¡¯s actions on Kirkwell, there must be paperwork in which Horace related what he knew about Royo and Anna Mullins¡¯s death.


    As things turned out, getting ahold of Horace¡¯s report about his time on Kirkwell proved surprisingly easy. Horace had not only secured the lowest possible security rating for it, but had also deposited a dozen copies of it under a dozen different titles. This meant that anyone working for the Rowowan government could see it if he knew what he was looking for. Lattamore could not help but smile to himself when he realized this. Horace had obviously wanted it distributed far and wide, no doubt to justify his actions. When the report arrived a week later, Lattamore rapidly devoured it. Horace made a convincing and well-reasoned argument that Rael had murdered not only Brenda Furthermore and Anna Mullins, but also several girls in Ethosia and Alleria during the war. He based his conclusions on his investigation before he went to Kirkwell, interviews he conducted after the battle on the island, and an astonishing amount of information he had somehow acquired during his time there. Lattamore was impressed. The only problem, of course, was that Rael had died before the girl in the southern wastelands met her unfortunate end.


    On the other hand, Frederick was still very much alive. Lattamore made some inquiries and discovered that Rowowan authorities had released Frederick from a prison camp six months earlier. Horace had cleared Frederick of murdering the girls during the war because he found no evidence that Frederick had been with Rael at those times. Lattamore, though, thought that was odd because Rael and Frederick had at Kirkwell and Mercia frequently reminisced about their adventures together at the front. Lattamore hiked over to the remains of the royal archives to troll through the available documents there. As Horace had discovered, Frederick was not on any army payrolls, duty rosters, casualty lists, and so forth. Lattamore was about to leave empty-handed when a helpful archivist suggested that he examine the royal family archives in the palace. There Lattamore found his answer. It turned out that Frederick¡¯s commission was strictly honorary. He was in fact Rael¡¯s personal valet, and had been paid out of the royal family¡¯s budget and subject to its orders, not the army¡¯s. In this capacity, Frederick served with Rael throughout the war. It also made him Lattamore¡¯s prime suspect.


    Lattamore felt that he had to travel to Borotai to apprehend Frederick ¨C assuming he was there. After all, he had accepted the case and identified the primary suspect. There was also the matter of his pride. Frederick had killed Anna Mullins on his watch, so he had a personal stake in his capture. Even so, he was not looking forward to the long and dangerous trip southward. The People¡¯s Syndicate had started there and its power was growing. Its brutal tactics belied its egalitarian and utopian rhetoric. Its armed gangs roamed the countryside and infiltrated the cities, killing everyone associated with both the Rowowans and the old regime. As someone with ties to its two enemies, Lattamore was particularly vulnerable. Even so, he decided to go. After a tearful farewell with Lana, Lattamore boarded a train in Aurora. The further south he went, the more shocked he was at the abject poverty, destruction, and chaos. The vultures that feasted on the corpses along the railroad was especially jarring. By the time his train pulled into Borotai, Lattamore felt as if he had entered a dusty brown Hobbesian world.


    Actually, law and order had not completely collapsed in the town. There was a garrison of Allerian soldiers in Rowowan service there. Lattamore hitched a ride in a truck that took him from the train station to army headquarters. To his surprise, he discovered that Theodore Millwright was the local commander. Lattamore had only met him a few times during the war, but Kargas always spoke very highly of him. After picking his way through the buzz of activity around the headquarters, Lattamore presented his credentials to an officer who ushered him into a dingy room that Millwright used as an office. Millwright remembered Lattamore and called him by name.


    Millwright extended his hand. ¡°Mr. Lattamore. It¡¯s been a long time. I¡¯m sorry the accommodations aren¡¯t better.¡±


    Lattamore shook his hand and took the seat Millwright offered. ¡°Thank you, general.¡±


    Millwright tapped an insignia on his uniform. ¡°No, I¡¯m a colonel now.¡±


    ¡°You should be a general,¡± said Lattamore.


    Millwright chuckled. ¡°Well, I¡¯m fortunate to ply my trade anywhere instead of rotting in a Rowowan labor camp.¡± He pointed to Lattamore¡¯s badge. ¡°I see you¡¯ve found employment with the Rowowan empire too.¡±


    Lattamore nodded his head and used the opening to explain his mission. When he finished, an artillery shell burst in the street out back.


    Millwright listened for a moment to the cries of a wounded man and the reassurances of a medic. ¡°Well, I have bad news, Mr. Lattamore. We¡¯ve been ordered to evacuate the town today before the Syndicate cuts off our supply lines. If your man is here, he¡¯s the Syndicate¡¯s problem now.¡±


    Lattamore thought for a moment. He hated the idea of returning to Aurora empty-handed. On the other hand, he had his wife and child to think about. In the end, though, his sense of duty and pride carried the day.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°I think I¡¯ll stay behind and see if I can work with the Syndicate.¡±


    Millwright shook his head. ¡°I think you¡¯re making a mistake, but it¡¯s your call. If you want, I¡¯ll write you a document explaining your mission and asking the Syndicate to treat you well, but I doubt that they will respect it.¡±


    Lattamore watched as Millwright issued the necessary orders. His battalion¡¯s withdrawal from the town was surprisingly rapid. Within two hours all the trucks and boxcars were loaded. Millwright¡¯s car was the last to leave. He stood by the vehicle and looked around to make sure that all his men were accounted for. If he was downbeat by the retreat, he did not show it. He was, Lattamore thought, the consummate professional soldier.


    As the two men watched the convoy rumble by out of Borotai, Millwright asked, ¡°What happened to Mr. Kargas?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Lattamore responded. ¡°I assume he¡¯s in a labor camp up in the tundra somewhere.¡±


    Millwright raised his eyebrows. ¡°I heard that he escaped, but was later gunned down by the post office.¡±


    Lattamore was saddened, but not surprised, by the unconfirmed news. ¡°Well, he was a great man.¡±


    ¡°He was,¡± said Millwright. He then shook Lattamore¡¯s hand, climbed into the passenger side of his vehicle, and drove out of the town in a cloud of smoke and dust.


    As things turned out, the Syndicate did not take control of Borotai until the following morning. After spending the night in an abandoned house, Lattamore woke early and waited by Millwright¡¯s former headquarters. He watched looters systematically tear the place apart, but they found little of value. Finally, around ten in the morning, a Syndicate convoy rolled into town. Lattamore¡¯s practiced eye immediately identified its commander, a wiry little man with greasy hair and spectacles, as he emerged from his vehicle. Lattmore approached him with his hands in the air, introduced himself, and asked for a minute of his time. The man looked Lattamore up and down, carefully seized his sidearm, and took him aside. He said that his name was Major Ian Brigsby. As soon as Lattamore identified himself as a member of the Allerian regional police force, Brigsby punched him in the stomach and called for one of his soldiers to take Lattamore out back and shoot him. As the soldier led him away, Lattamore hurriedly explained his mission. Brigsby said nothing until Lattamore mentioned Frederick¡¯s name. He ordered the soldier to bring Lattamore back.


    ¡°Frederick Fitzpatrick?¡± Brigsby asked. ¡°Of the Fitzpatrick family? Those bloodsucking Fitzpatricks?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Lattamore replied. ¡°He¡¯s one of those bloodsucking Fitzpatricks.¡±


    Brigsby stroked his chin. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what. If you find him and turn him over to us, I¡¯ll spare your life and let you go free. I¡¯ll give you a week to do so.¡±


    ¡°What if I can¡¯t locate him?¡±


    Brigsby smirked. ¡°Then we¡¯ll shoot you.¡±


    Lattamore did not like the terms, but they beat immediate execution.


    Brigsby returned Lattamore his sidearm and dismissed him, but did not order anyone to guard him. Frederick took advantage of the incongruity to leave at once without asking for clarification or elaboration.


    Lattamore retreated to a nearby bar to plot his next move. He thought about simply skipping town. The problem was that the nearest Rowowan-held city, Sansapor, was nearly twenty miles away, and the surrounding countryside was full of bandits and Syndicate soldiers who would undoubtedly shoot him if he fell into their hands. His deal with Brigsby was based on the assumption that Frederick was actually in Borotai, but there was in fact no hard evidence to support that. And even if he was, Lattamore had no idea how to locate and apprehend him. As he sat in the bar nursing his whiskey, he noticed a large number of stores up and down the street selling specialized products, from apricots to silverware to lumber. He turned to the bartender.


    ¡°Does anyone in this town sell nuts?¡±


    The bartender thought for a moment and gave him a street name. Lattamore paid his tab, left the bar, and walked rapidly the two blocks to Assumption Street. Lattamore remembered that Frederick had a weakness for pistachios. Indeed, he was always munching on them. Lattamore could not imagine him going without them. He probably managed to find them even in his labor camp. Sure enough, there was a store there advertising nuts and figs. After introducing himself, Lattamore asked the shopkeeper if he carried pistachios and, if so, had anyone started buying them in bulk. Lattamore was heartened to learn that a man matching Frederick¡¯s description frequented the store for that very purpose. Lattamore promised the shopkeeper a substantial amount of money if he cooperated in locating him.


    Lattamore spent the next three days searching the city for Frederick. He checked every hotel and watering hole he could find without success. The problem, he knew, was that Frederick was a charming man capable of talking almost anyone into taking him in. As a result, Lattamore placed his hopes on the shopkeeper with the pistachios. Five days after he arrived in Borotai, Lattamore dropped by the nut shop and learned that the man matching Frederick¡¯s description had been there a short time before. The shopkeeper informed this man that the pistachio shipment had been delayed, but should arrive the next afternoon. After a troubled night¡¯s sleep, Lattamore returned to the shop, parked himself in the backroom, and waited. Several hours later, he heard a man enter the store and ask for the pistachios. Lattamore recognized Frederick¡¯s voice immediately. With growing impatience, Lattamore listened to Frederick chitchat with the shopkeeper. As soon as Frederick left the store, Lattamore hurried after him, across the street and down a deserted alleyway. He walked up behind him, put his gun to the back of his head, and told him he was under arrest.


    Frederick put his hands in the air, turned around slowly, and recognized Lattamore. ¡°Mr. Lattamore,¡± he said. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±


    Lattamore slowly withdrew Frederick¡¯s gun from his inside jacket pocket. ¡°I¡¯m arresting you for the murders of Brenda Furthermore, Anna Mullins, and several other women, including the one you killed here.¡±


    Frederick laughed. ¡°You can¡¯t do that. You have no authority here. No one does.¡±


    Lattamore cocked his revolver. ¡°This is my authority.¡±


    Lattamore marched Frederick through curious onlookers down to Syndicate army headquarters. After an interminable wait, an aide ushered them into Brigsby¡¯s office.


    Brigsby looked up from his desk. ¡°I assume this is Frederick Fitzpatrick?¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Lattamore replied.


    Brigsby jumped out of his chair and looked at Frederick for a long time. ¡°While you were drinking champagne and eating caviar during the war, I was sitting in a Rowowan prison camp surviving on rats.¡±


    Frederick remained silent.


    Brigsby turned to Lattamore. ¡°Well done, Mr. Lattamore.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. As we agreed, I¡¯ll be leaving as soon as possible with Mr. Fitzpatrick.¡±


    Brigsby laughed. ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡± He gestured to his aide, ¡°Take them out and shoot them ¨C Mr. Fitzpatrick for parasitism and Mr. Lattamore for collaboration.¡±


    The aide, though, leaned over and whispered in Brigsby¡¯s ear. Brigsby pondered for a moment. ¡°Right. Put them in the cells. We¡¯ll do it tomorrow morning when he gets here.¡±


    The aide called for a couple soldiers to escort Lattamore and Frederick to the jail cell in the building¡¯s basement. Once there, the two men sat on the cold floor in silence for awhile. After an hour, Frederick said, ¡°Are you happy? It¡¯s your fault that we¡¯re going to die tomorrow. These guys kill people for any and no reason.¡±


    Lattamore did not respond at first. Finally, he said, ¡°There are plenty of reasons to kill you.¡±


    Frederick sneered and went back to staring at the wall.


    ¡°Why did you do it?¡± Lattamore asked.


    ¡°Do what?¡±


    ¡°Why did you kill all those girls? I¡¯ve never heard of a womanizer who kills what he loves most.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about,¡± Frederick said.


    Lattamore laughed. ¡°Frederick, we¡¯re going to die tomorrow morning as soon as this important person arrives. You may think you can charm your way out of it, but you can¡¯t. They¡¯re going to kill you because of what you represent, not because of who you are. And they¡¯re going to kill me as sure as I¡¯m sitting here. So there¡¯s no need for your lies and deceptions. Save them for God.¡±


    Frederick did not say anything, so the two men sat there listening to the flies buzz around and contemplating their mortality.


    An hour later, Frederick spoke. ¡°You¡¯re right. We did it.¡±


    Lattamore looked at him. ¡°We?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Rael and me.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± exclaimed Lattamore. ¡°You and Rael? Both of you? How? Why?¡±


    Frederick inhaled deeply. ¡°The first was Brenda Furthermore. Rael and I hated Royo di Czezarchek. He was a condescending little prick. Like a morose weasel. He was smarter than Rael and they both knew it. As for me, I resented his relationship with Iona. She talked about him more than about us. When we saw that he liked Brenda Furthermore, we decided to¡­ruin her for him. We figured that seducing her would be easy enough ¨C she was after all just a servant girl. But she put up a fight, and in the process got strangled.¡±


    ¡°After you raped her,¡± said Lattamore.


    Frederick ignored the comment. ¡°Most of the time we met girls, they were happy to service both of us, especially after we plied them with alcohol. After all, he was the prince. Every now and then, though, there would be a woman not so willing. Rael never liked that. He liked exerting his power and compelling obedience. He got squeamish about cleaning up afterwards, though.¡±


    Lattamore snorted in disgust. ¡°So it was mostly Rael? Then how did you manage to rape and kill the girl here without Rael¡¯s help?¡±


    Frederick shook his head. ¡°That was a tragic accident.¡±


    Lattamore rolled his eyes. ¡°So, no remorse, no guilt, no shame?¡±


    Frederick misinterpreted the comment. ¡°Why do you think Rael drank so much?¡± Frederick asked. ¡°He hated what he did. He hated that he was unworthy of ruling Alleria. And he knew that Iona would do a better job if given the opportunity.¡±


    ¡°What about you?¡±


    ¡°What about me?¡± Frederick mimicked. ¡°I served my prince.¡±


    Lattamore terminated the conversation. ¡°You¡¯re getting what you deserve.¡±


    The two men retreated back into silence. Although the cell became musty and cold as the sun set, the flies continued buzzing. The guards did not give them any food or water. Lattamore let his mind wander. He wondered why Brigsby had accepted his word that Frederick was in fact Frederick Fitzpatrick. The answer, of course, was that Brigsby did not really care about the truth. He wanted to impress his superiors by claiming that he had captured and executed an aristocrat. Having solved that question to his satisfaction, Lattamore pondered Brigsby. Had he been born sadistic or had his time in a Rowowan prison made him so? Probably the former. After all, hundreds of thousands of soldiers spent time in prison camps, but they emerged as good decent people. Cruelty was doubtless inherent to Brigsby. What about Rael and Frederick? How could two men with so many advantages ¨C money, education, status, looks, etc. ¨C become such monsters? Maybe it was their privileges that made them that way? But Lattamore knew plenty of upper class folks who were fine individuals. Were Rael and Frederick, like Brigsby, just touched by evil at birth? And how did two such despicable people find each other. Birds of a feather, mused Lattamore, apparently flocked together. Lattamore¡¯s mind drifted to Iona. Did she know about her brother and Frederick? Did that contribute to her decision to turn them in and then to take her own life? Well, in a few hours he could ask her himself. Thoughts of Iona led to thoughts of his wife. She was young and pretty, so she would probably remarry and be fine. That conclusion actually made him feel better. Despite the stress, he eventually fell asleep.


    Early next morning guards rousted Lattamore and Frederick from their sleep and hustled them out of their cell. When they reached the small courtyard behind the building, a photographer took their pictures. The guards then pushed them up against a wall pockmarked with bullet holes from the previous week¡¯s executions. An elated Brigsby stood before them with a higher-ranking officer who was obviously unimpressed with the situation. Brigsby directed the guards to take aim and then gave the order to fire. As the shots rang out, Frederick tumbled to the ground dead. Lattamore¡¯s body tensed, but he felt nothing. Even so, he fell to his knees. Brigsby laughed as the soldiers picked him up and brought him over.


    The high-ranking officer scowled at Brigsby before addressing Lattamore. ¡°Major Brigsby informed me that he promised you your freedom if you apprehended Frederick Fitzpatrick. I would like to shoot you too, but I¡¯m going to live up to his bargain. You are free to go.¡±


    An officer emptied Lattamore¡¯s gun of its bullets, handed it to him, and ushered him out the courtyard gate into the boulevard. Although there were Syndicate soldiers everywhere, none made any effort to stop him as he walked down the street and left the town. Rowowan-occupied Sansapor was twenty miles away. Despite the danger, Lattamore trudged down the road mile after thirsty mile, oblivious to the threat posed by bandits. A Rowowan officer leading a patrol out of Sansapor spotted him several hours later and brought him back to safety. A week later he was back in Aurora, writing up his report and returning home every evening to his wife and child.

 19. The Teacher

    Chapter Nineteen


    THE TEACHER


    Aitape was a medium-size city tucked away on Valgor¡¯s southwestern coast renowned for its pebble beaches, temperate climate, and sophistication. It contained the confederation¡¯s second largest university, a world famous library, and ¨C not coincidentally, people said ¨C a first-rate sanitarium. Royo had visited the city during the war, but all he remembered about it was the marble statue on the waterfront, a facsimile of a mythical mermaid who lured unsuspecting fishermen to their watery deaths. As he watched the statue pass his line of sight from his taxi, he recalled a fellow sailor insisting that someone must have bested the mermaid. After all, how else would anyone know of her beauty? Royo chuckled to himself as the taxi sped through the downtown toward a leafy suburban neighborhood.


    It had been five years since Royo left Kirkwell for Ethosia. Since then he had held a variety of eclectic jobs, including bricklayer, hardware store clerk, teacher, and, most recently, literary magazine editor. Whatever his occupation, he had deliberately avoided setting down roots and making friends. He wanted to put his past behind him, but worried that someone might show up seeking revenge for something he had done. As a result, although he tried to be kind and considerate, he maintained a reserve that discouraged any intimacy and made it easier for him to leave and start his life anew. If he was often lonely, he was rarely unhappy; hard work, he had learned long ago, was the best antidepressant. Besides, he believed that his paranoia served him well. The People¡¯s Syndicate was making inroads in Ethosia, moving into the power vacuum left by the crumbling Rowowan empire. Unlike many of his colleagues who were seduced by Syndicate rhetoric about serving the people, Royo recognized its hypocrisy from the start. He knew that a Syndicate-ruled Ethosia meant the end to whatever freedoms its citizens had enjoyed under either the Allerians or the Rowowans. For this reason he seized the opportunity to move to Valgor.


    An acquaintance of an acquaintance had hired Royo as editor of a small fledgling literary magazine after learning of Royo¡¯s love of books. As things turned out, Royo had an eye for talent and an understanding of the public¡¯s tastes. Royo published mostly short stories about Ethosian life, but also dabbled in Allerian, Valgoran, and even Rowowan literature. His magazine gained a regional following among both the hoi polloi and critics. Royo, though, doubted that the magazine would survive the Syndicate takeover he was sure was coming ¨C not in its current form anyway. He was therefore receptive when the headmaster of an elite Aitape school sent him a letter asking him to consider taking a well-paid post there teaching literature.


    Vineyard Academy consisted of several sturdy brick buildings surrounded by a high stone wall. Its founder, Jacob Vineyard, had established the school fifty years earlier to prepare the scions of Aitape¡¯s finest families for university work. Although it looked idyllic, it had fallen on hard times until a new chancellor expanded the school¡¯s recruiting efforts to include the children of exiled Allerian and Ethosian families. After his taxi dropped him off, Royo walked through the iron gates and found his way to the administration wing. There a secretary introduced him to the headmaster, a tweedy balding man named Kyle Ronquillo. He seemed like the kind of person perfectly happy and comfortable pushing paper. The two men exchanged pleasantries for several minutes before getting down to business. For a half hour they discussed the job¡¯s responsibilities, expectations, salary and benefits, and pedagogy. Royo was not an especially good interviewee, but Ronquillo¡¯s questions seemed perfunctory and pro forma, as if he was merely going through the motions for a decision already made. Sure enough, at the interview¡¯s end, Ronquillo said, ¡°Thank you, Mr. Czezarchek. I¡¯m authorized to offer you the position starting in the fall term. I really hope you will accept it.¡±


    Although Royo asked for a few days to think about it, he knew he would take the job as soon as Ronquillo offered it. He suspected that it was only a matter of time before either the Syndicate conquered Ethosia or the principality degenerated into chaos. Either way, he wanted to be as far away as possible when it happened, and Valgor seemed as good a place as any to ride out the coming storm. After he left Ronquillo¡¯s office, Royo walked around the campus, exploring its dorms, classrooms, and grounds. He especially enjoyed the star motif in the new chapel. He then took a taxi back to the hotel and the next day boarded a ferry for Ethosia. Once he reached Highrealm, he telegraphed Ronquillo to accept the job, submitted his resignation to the magazine, and packed his few belongings into a trunk. A week later he moved into one of the small apartments on campus that the school reserved for new single faculty.


    Because Royo returned to Aitape late in the summer, he had only a few weeks to prepare for the fall term. Fortunately, he had taught before and was thoroughly familiar with the material. He also possessed considerable experience starting over in strange places. He knew that the thing to do was to work hard, keep his head down, and be kind to everyone. He explored the city, especially its bookstores and libraries. He was heartened by the faculty¡¯s friendliness and comradery. It was a diverse mix of old and young, male and female, Valgoran and foreign, married and unmarried. He took a liking to the young math teacher, a roguish fellow whose wife insisted that he eat dinner with them once a week. The buxum librarian seemed interested in him. At lunch the teachers regaled him with war stories of their classroom experiences. They also poked fun at Ronquillo and his stiff bureaucratic ways, as well as the chancellor¡¯s regal primness.


    The evening before the first students arrived for fall term, Royo attended the academy¡¯s traditional pre semester dinner. It was a formal affair, so Royo had to buy a new suit for the occasion. Approximately thirty faculty, staff, and administrators gathered in the cafeteria before the meal. Royo talked with the math teacher and flirted with the librarian. As they sat down around the long rectangular wooden table, the chancellor entered the room. The teachers nicknamed her the ¡°ice queen¡± for her distant and unemotional ways. She had been gone all summer hobnobbing, fundraising, and recruiting. Royo was curious to meet her, but only caught a glimpse of her before everybody took their seats. From the other end of the table, Royo noticed that she looked a bit like the photos he remembered of Iona¡¯s mother. She certainly lived up to her nickname: blonde hair tied up in a tight bun, spectacles, long-sleeved black blouse buttoned up to her neck, and a rather tight skirt down to her ankles.


    Royo tried to avoid thinking much about Iona. The truth was that he felt some responsibility for her suicide. After all, he penned the letter that brought the Rowowans to Kirkwell in force and compelled the royal twins to flee for Valgor. He was also the one who placed on Iona the burden of stopping her brother. He had always believed that she was strong enough to handle such challenges, but apparently not. He was looking at the chancellor when someone down the table called her name. As she turned in her seat to respond, her eyes locked with Royo¡¯s. It lasted only a second ¨C less than that, really ¨C but he recognized a spark of¡­something. Recognition? Acknowledgment? Affection? All of them? Royo was taken aback. By the time he refocused on her, she was speaking to Ronquillo and gave no indication that he existed. But he knew there was something there. As she continued her conversation with the headmaster, Royo gazed at her hair, her eyes, her face, her breasts. He had once memorized Iona¡¯s features, but that was long ago when she was young. He stared at her hands. She had one around a bowl of peach cobbler. The other was tapping away furiously at a glass of wine. Just like Iona.


    But Royo was not positive. After all, Iona had committed suicide years ago, and although her body was never found, every investigation concluded that she was dead. Moreover, when the chancellor introduced the new faculty after the dinner, she mispronounced Royo¡¯s last name. Nor did she give any evidence of knowing him during their perfunctory introduction later. By the time Royo returned to his apartment at the evening¡¯s end, he wondered if he imagined the whole thing. Perhaps the chancellor¡¯s vague similarity to Iona caused some wishful thinking? He tried to convince himself that he imagined that look. His gut, though, told him otherwise.


    Royo had few complaints about his job. The pay was good, and his students seemed interested in his lectures and reading assignments. Indeed, Royo had a knack for teaching and made it look easy. The chancellor, though, was like an itch he could not scratch. She did not mix much with the faculty, so Royo rarely saw her. When he did, she showed little interest in him, and in fact seemed to go out of her way to avoid him. For instance, she invited each teacher to lunch that term to discuss his or her classes, except for Royo. Instead, Ronquillo met with him for a few minutes at the end of the day. Puzzled, Royo made some discreet inquiries about her. He learned that she was an Allerian refugee who the board of directors hired as chancellor because its members assumed from her aristocratic demeanor that she had money to pump into the troubled school. As things turned out, she did not, but she turned the academy around by locating new donors and students. The story was that she told one generous benefactor that she was disappointed in the small amount of money he was giving to the school and demanded more. When he cut her a check, she looked at it, tore it in two, and insisted that he try again. Royo fed all this information into his mental hopper and sifted through it during his evening walks around the neighborhood. He thought about simply asking her, but he knew he would feel terribly foolish and embarrassed if she denied it. He needed to find another way.


    One September day Royo turned his class over to a colleague and walked over to the administrative wing. Royo knew that Ronquillo was out of town and the secretary was at lunch, so the chancellor was the only person there. When she saw him enter the suite, she looked around frantically for a second, and then pretended she did not see him. Royo knocked on her open door to get her attention.


    The chancellor looked up. ¡°Mr. Czezarchek. Mr. Ronquillo isn¡¯t here. Perhaps you can return tomorrow.¡±


    Royo stayed put. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but he asked me to give him an update on two of my students. He said it was urgent. Can I simply tell you?¡±


    ¡°Yes, of course.¡±


    ¡°The two students are Mr. Winters and Miss Scranton,¡± Royo said. He waited a couple seconds and narrowed his eyes. ¡°Ma¡¯am, you have lipstick on your teeth.¡±


    Embarrassed and flustered, the chancellor grabbed a handkerchief from her top drawer and rubbed her front teeth with it.


    Royo stayed silent until she said, ¡°Well?¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± said Royo. ¡°It¡¯s box in and box out for Mr. Winters.¡±The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Box in and box out¡± was an old expression of unknown origin that students used at the royal academy when Royo and Iona were there to signify approval and satisfaction. Royo had never heard it anywhere except there.


    The chancellor smiled. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s good to hear. What about Miss Scranton.¡±


    Royo repeated the phrase. ¡°Box in and box out for her too.¡±


    ¡°Good. Thank you, Mr. Czezarchek.¡±


    Royo arched his eyebrows. ¡°No problem. Good afternoon.¡±


    As Royo walked out of the office, the chancellor called after him. ¡°Mr. Czezarchek, I understand that you are doing a fine job for us. We¡¯re glad you are here.¡±


    Royo stopped and turned to her. ¡°Thank you, ma¡¯am. It¡¯s good to be here.¡±


    After he was gone, the chancellor exhaled deeply and resumed her work. Then, after she had replayed the conversation in her head, she exclaimed to herself, ¡°That son-of-a-bitch!¡±


    Royo was now sure the chancellor was Iona, but his certitude spawned more questions than answers. Why was she still alive? What was she doing working as chancellor of a Valgoran school? The questions that applied to his situation were creepier. Why had she arranged for him to teach there? Why was she hiding her identity from him? To complicate things, Iona had most likely figured out his ploy in her office and knew that he was on to her. Royo toyed with confronting her, but he again rejected the idea because he did not know how to respond if she simply denied who she was. Royo instead opted to take the path of least resistance and continue to behave normally. It was not difficult because in the ensuing weeks she became so distant that he did not even see her for days at a time.


    At the same time, though, Royo increasingly resented the bizarre situation in which he found himself. He felt like Iona¡¯s lab rat. It seemed that Iona had for unknown reasons tricked him back into an unpleasant life he had left behind, a life in which she haunted and dominated his thoughts. It was like his time at the royal academy all those years ago. One afternoon he noticed a group of children playing in a field across the road from his apartment. When one of them became unhappy with the game, he simply walked away. It suddenly occurred to Royo that he had the same option. He could simply leave the school at the end of the term and start his life over again ¨C away from Iona and his past. He had done so before, albeit under different circumstances. He sent out inquiries to various magazines and journals on Valgor. Because his previous work in the field had garnered some attention, he got several offers based solely on his reputation. He opted to accept the post in the Valgor capital of Moresby as an assistant editor to Valgor¡¯s largest and most respected literary journal.


    Royo hoped to avoid an awkward farewell meeting with Iona. Indeed, he wanted as little to do with her as possible. On the last day of the term, he finished his work and submitted his grades. He then wrote a brief and direct resignation letter, including a forwarding address, and placed it in interoffice mail before he left for his apartment. He figured that by the time Iona opened it on Monday morning, he would be long gone. After packing his few belongings, he took a taxi to the train station, bought a ticket, and found a seat in the back corner of one of the cars. Although a part of him felt craven for leaving without saying goodbye to anyone, another part felt liberated. For much of his life he had been drawn into the orbits of people wealthier and more powerful than himself, often with tragic results. Those days, he promised himself, were over. He shut his eyes and dozed as he waited for the train to depart.


    Unbeknownst to Royo, Iona and her secretary usually stayed late on the term¡¯s last day to tie up the inevitable loose ends. As a result, the secretary was still at her desk when Royo popped his resignation letter in the dropbox. She retrieved it and the other pieces of mail and placed them in a pile for Iona to pick up on her way home. Iona did so before walking to her modest house across the street and uphill from the faculty apartments. Tired from a hectic week, she poured herself a glass of wine and ran a hot bath. Keeping the academy afloat and functioning was a grueling job. Although she had had considerable success, there was nothing easy about fundraising and recruiting. She was good at it though. It had been a steep and often embarrassing learning curve, but she had figured out that the key was to never approach anyone as a supplicant. Her success was no doubt a product of her imperious personality and forceful intellect. She was proud of her accomplishments because she had achieved them without the help of her family name, money, or connections. Unfortunately, there was also a downside. The long hours were not as bad as the accompanying loneliness. She could not share her past with anyone without risking her true identity. She instead erected a thick and impenetrable wall between herself and others. Intimacy was simply something she could not afford.


    After easing herself into her bath, Iona reached for the stack of mail and began opening and skimming each letter, making mental notes on which required her personal attention and which she could delegate to others. Upon reading Royo¡¯s resignation letter, she jumped out of the tub, grabbed a towel, and rushed over to her window. Looking downhill, she saw that Royo¡¯s apartment lights were off, including the one above the stove that he always left on. She made some calculations, then threw on a dress. Although she rarely left her house without make-up and lipstick, she made an exception now. Grabbing her purse as she left, she climbed into her car and drove as fast as she could to the train station. By the time she arrived, the train to the capital was getting ready to depart. She did not have time to buy a ticket, and anyway she did not have any money, but she knew from her hardscrabble days that she could duck under a barricade on the far side of the platform and board the train undetected. Once onboard, she moved rapidly from car to car in search of Royo while at the same time keeping an eye out for the conductor. The cars were crowded and the lights dimmed, making the process difficult. Passengers stared at her because of her long blonde hair and thin dress clinging to her body. Finally, she spotted him dozing in the back next to a couple and their toddler. She hurried over and used her hip to carve out a spot for herself next to him, knocking the toddler off the seat and into the aisle in the process.


    Royo knew it was Iona even before he opened one eye to look because he recognized her breathing pattern. It occurred to him that this was an odd and disturbing way of identifying someone. He was not happy to see her and did not want a confrontation.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± he whispered.


    Iona wedged herself in closer to him and intertwined her arm with his. ¡°I came to see you.¡±


    Royo guffawed. ¡°You had plenty of opportunities over the past four months to see me. Why now?¡± Before she could answer, he renewed his questioning. ¡°Why did you even bring me here if you didn¡¯t want to talk to me? What is wrong with you?¡±


    Iona had been so focused on locating Royo that she had not thought much about what to say to him. Moreover, she was unsure of her feelings and motivations. Flustered by his barrage of questions, she started to respond, but could not articulate her complicated feelings. Finally, she opened her purse, fished around in it, and withdrew a clear vial that she placed in Royo¡¯s hand.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Royo asked.


    ¡°Poison.¡±


    Royo narrowed his eyes. ¡°Why are you carrying around a vial of poison?¡±


    ¡°I procured it the day I saw your name on the masthead of that magazine you used to work at,¡± Iona said.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I blamed you for everything that happened to me. You betrayed our kingdom by working for the Rowowans, and your presence on Kirkwell set off the chain of events that led to¡­everything. You cost me my royal status. Now the Syndicate is overrunning and brutalizing my country and there¡¯s nothing I can do about it.¡±


    ¡°What the hell is wrong with you?¡± Royo exclaimed.


    The people in the seats around them turned to see what was going on. An embarrassed Iona implored to Royo, ¡°Let me explain. Can we go somewhere quiet and talk? Can you meet me in the bar car while I go clean up?¡±


    Royo looked at her in both horror and disgust, but finally nodded. With difficulty they pried themselves of out their seat. Royo walked down the aisle to the bar car while Iona ducked into the women¡¯s restroom. She shut the door and tried to make herself presentable. She suddenly felt panicky and out of control, as if she had just realized that she was betting far more than she could afford to lose. At the same time, though, she could not understand her emotions. Meeting Royo had opened floodgates to feelings she forgot she possessed.


    After throwing some water on her face, trying without success to put her hair in some order, and smoothing out her dress, Iona opened the restroom door. Two conductors were waiting for her. ¡°That¡¯s her,¡± said one. ¡°I saw her sneak on the train.¡±


    ¡°Wait, wait,¡± Iona pleaded as the men hustled her off the train. ¡°I have to meet someone. Let me go!¡±


    The men ignored her protests and yanked her onto the platform just before the train pulled away from the station.


    ¡°No! No!¡± she yelled as she kicked at the men. Breaking away, she ran down the track after the train, but tripped and fell over a railroad tie, cutting her face in the process.


    The men lifted her up forcefully and held her tight as she continued to struggle. Within minutes a policeman arrived to take her to the police station. On their way there he explained to her that the railroad had been having a lot of trouble with people boarding its trains without tickets, and was making an example out of her. At the police station the policeman led her to a cell and locked her in. As she sat down on the cot, he said, ¡°You look like a whore.¡±


    Iona looked up and remembered the last time she visited a cellblock. ¡°You¡¯re not the first person to tell me that.¡±


    Iona took advantage of the opportunity her solitude in her cell afforded her to sort out her emotions. She did not understand why she reacted so strongly to a man she had not talked to in a long time. Then it occurred to her that the question suggested the answer. For years she had kept her identity secret by hiding her past and keeping her emotions bottled up inside. Doing so was lonely and stressful. She longed to confide in someone, to tell her story. When they were young, Royo had the ability to unlock her heart and get her to reveal her innermost thoughts. Perhaps seeing him triggered an instinctive response. He was after all just about the only person left on the planet who shared and understood her history. But now he was gone. Although a part of her wanted to cry, she realized that she needed all the haughtiness she could muster to bluster and bluff her way out of this situation.


    An hour later the guard returned with Royo in tow. He unlocked the cell, ushered Royo in, handed him a first aid kit, and left. Royo looked down at Iona. ¡°The last time we were in a jail our roles were reversed. Of course, I was facing execution; you¡¯re facing a stiff fine.¡±


    ¡°How did you find me?¡± Iona asked.


    Royo grabbed a chair from the other end of the cell, dragged it over in front of Iona, and sat down. He opened the first aid kit, removed a cotton swab, lifted her chin, and dabbed one of the cuts on her cheek.


    ¡°When you didn¡¯t show up at the bar car, I asked the conductor,¡± he explained. ¡°He told me what happened. I jumped off the train and walked back to the station. Those folks said you were here.¡±


    Iona smiled. ¡°That¡¯s sweet of you.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± said Royo, still focused on her cuts. ¡°Of course, everything I own is on its way to Moresby, so that¡¯s a problem. But I decided that you¡¯re more important.¡±


    For the first time in years, Iona blushed.


    Royo paused and stared at Iona. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you poison me? You had plenty of chances to take your revenge.¡±


    Iona flared at the slightly mocking tone in his voice. ¡°Don¡¯t talk to me like that!¡±


    ¡°Okay, sorry. But you haven¡¯t answered the question.¡±


    Iona sighed. ¡°Well, it occurred to me that we both made deals with the devil to live our own lives. I realized that it would be hypocritical for me to hold that against you. I just wish I could have done more with mine.¡±


    ¡°You know,¡± said Royo, ¡°You don¡¯t have to be a princess to help Alleria and live a fulfilling life. You just need to be you.¡±


    Iona pursed her lips. ¡°I never thought of it that way. Of course, I can¡¯t do anything until I answer for this particular crime.¡±


    Royo laughed. ¡°I already took care of that. You¡¯re free to go.¡±


    ¡°What did you tell the police?¡± Iona asked.


    ¡°That it was a lovers¡¯ quarrel.¡±


    Iona thought for a second. ¡°Was it?¡±


    Royo looked her in the eyes. ¡°Iona, why did you come after me tonight?¡±


    ¡°Why did you come back for me?¡±


    Royo smiled at her. ¡°For the same reason, I guess.¡±

 20. The Bookkeepers Wife

    Chapter Twenty


    THE BOOKKEEPER¡¯S WIFE


    Although the springtime sun had finally emerged from behind winter¡¯s clouds, the ground retained the cold, the moisture, and its earthy odor. Abbelina stood at the kitchen sink window, sipping tea and absently watching her son and daughter run through the muck at the playground across the street. They were not her biological children, of course, but were adopted Ethosians she and Horace had plucked from an orphanage several years earlier. Even so, she loved them like they were her own. They filled some of the holes that the war had punched through her heart.


    Rebuilding her relationship with Horace had been difficult. He was not the same man who had left for the war all those years ago. His physical injuries, while dramatic, were in the largest sense superficial. On the other hand, his psychological wounds were deeper and more damaging. To their friends and neighbors he was as easygoing and placid as ever, but at home he was a harder and moodier version of his former self. She soon realized that his guilt was as deep as her own, but he expressed it differently. He sometimes withdrew into himself for hours at a time, and then lashed out at her on the smallest of pretexts. In a moment of candor, he confessed that God¡¯s forgiveness could not seem to take away his continuing embarrassment at his actions. Abbelina found his behavior very frustrating. At the same time, she acknowledged to herself that she was not the same woman he had wed either. The war had stripped away her vivaciousness, outgoingness, and self-confidence. The upshot was that they had to rediscover each other within the confines of marriage, which was somewhat akin to learning to drive an automobile that was already on the road. Horace had almost left her several times in the months after he materialized in her living room. In each instance her gentle and shrewd supplication dissuaded him. She liked to think of their marriage as a work in progress.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    The slamming door interrupted her thoughts. ¡°Where¡¯s the mail?¡± Horace asked with his usual brusqueness before he kissed her on the cheek, knocked on the window pane, and waved at their kids.


    Abbelina was pleased that he had returned home in a good mood. ¡°I already got it. It¡¯s on the table.¡±


    As he flipped through the stack of letters, Abbelina asked, ¡°Have you ever heard of Vineyard Academy?¡±


    ¡°No. Why?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± she continued. ¡°It¡¯s a school in Valgor. Aitape, to be exact.¡±


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°We got their quarterly newsletter for some reason. It¡¯s addressed specifically to you.¡±


    Horace found it and briefly perused articles devoted to alumni news, student and faculty accomplishments, and pleas for money. On the very last page, though, was an announcement of the wedding of the school¡¯s chancellor and one of its teachers, with an accompanying black and white photograph of the couple. The bride was dressed in a white gown that accentuated her long hair and cleavage.


    Abbelina looked over his shoulder. ¡°She doesn¡¯t look like a chancellor at all. She¡¯s beautiful. She looks like royalty.¡±


    Horace nodded and put his arm around her waist.