Woes and Hose Page 21

  Dick waited for the bastard to dress up. Kief moved slowly, afraid that his motions would spur Dick to violence. If he only knew… Dick was never patient, but at the moment, he had the virtue of stone.

  “Come here.”

  Kief shuffled over, hunched, bracing himself for a blow. When Dick hugged him, he visibly winced. The man stank of sweat, wine and congress. And fear. Cold, rank, white fear.

  “Cousin, I will say this only once. I will not repeat myself. Be very attentive.”

  Another noisy gulp. “Yes, Your Royal Highness.”

  “You have been very naughty. Very naughty. Can you imagine the punishment for what you’ve done? Do not answer. It’s fine. I am not angry.”

  “You are not?”

  “No, not at all. In fact, I want you to keep on with this little…adventure of yours.”

  Kief was silent for a long time. Dick let him, casually keeping the barrel of his pistol close to the man’s crotch. “I…I am speechless, Your Royal Highness.”

  “Do not be. This will be our little secret. No, this will be our big secret. The secret of your life. The one you take to your grave—or the one that takes you to it. Pretend that I have not found out, and just keep on with your dangerous delights.”

  Kief was trembling. “But why, Your Royal Highness?”

  “Ah, do not question my wisdom. Trust it. Embrace it. Be thankful that I’m such a merciful prince.”

  “I am thankful, Your Royal Highness.”

  “Great. We shall talk again. As if nothing has happened.” Gently, he pushed Kief toward the ladder. The bastard was shaking so much, he missed the rungs a few times before he managed to clamber out.

  Dick turned toward his wife. She was as unattractive as the day he had been forced to marry her. Except now, he had all the leverage, sway, power, and control over her, and that brought him immense joy. And an endless reservoir of excuses as to why he’d never need bed her.

  Thank you, Saint!

  “Deek—” she mumbled.

  “I am disappointed, Amadea.” Not really. “I thought the people of Sacony had virtue.” Not really. “I expected you to behave and carry like a duchess.” Not really. “But now, we are in a predicament. If I confess your sins to Elder Niklaus—”

  “Please, no —”

  “Silence. If I have to confess, and tell Duke Ettore and King Ulaf about this…” She started crying. “I believe our marriage will have to be dissolved, to the ultimate destruction and subjugation of Sacony by Monrich. You don’t want to see your homeland razed, now do you?”

  She shook her head, sobbing, staring at the cellar floor.

  “Neither do I. Our marriage must be strong. For the sake of our people.”

  She looked up, probably wondering if he’d gone mad.

  Dick nodded encouragingly. “Yes. This is why I am not going to tell anyone.”

  “You no tell?” she slurred.

  “No. But from now on, you will do everything I ask of you. Do you understand?”

  Amadea took her time, just like Kief had. Eventually, she bobbed her ugly head.

  Dick holstered the pistol. “Excellent, I knew you would see reason.”

  “Tha…thank you,” she said at least.

  “Of course. Now, we need to pray, you and I. Together!”

  “Pray?”

  “Thank the Saint for our fortune!” Dick left her to clean up and climbed out of the cellar. The sky had never been brighter. He would have Crispin hunt down Elder Niklaus, he and his wife would pray—well, she would, because his own prayers had just been answered – and then, he could go back to being a happy, trouble-free prince keen on murdering his father and usurping the throne.

  CHAPTER 30

  Bad News

  “Words are cheap and swords are sharp; fight with words before you draw a blade.”

  —SANIR BEK, WHISPERER TO BEGGE OLEYMAN, 4TH CENTURY

  12th day of the Month of the Sickle

  Bliss.

  That was the word that described how Dick felt.

  Immersed in a hot water, with his nostrils full of the scent of lavender and his eyes full of the sight of a beautiful and shy maid on the other side of the chamber, waiting for his signal to bring the towels and try to escape without getting her bottom pinched, Dick couldn’t be any happier.

  Well…

  His father could be dead, he could be the king, Mina could no longer be annoying him, and he could be far from war, siege and horrendous fashion. He could have Eva at his side, and need not to worry about assassins, Lady Enduria, or conflicting reports about friendly mercenaries hogging Ostland’s ports.

  Still, at that moment, if he ignored the two guards posted inside the room, and two others outside, he was as close to bliss as he could be.

  He had his own brace of pistols at his side—and for good measure—a handful of Ravash crossbows. The steam would probably make the gunpowder fizzle rather than burn, so he had armed himself with weapons that would not fail him, if someone chose to storm the bath chamber and try to take his life.

  The maid was looking at him, he noticed. He winked at her. She blushed and squirmed.

  “Pretty one, what is your name?” Under the foamy water, his cock stirred.

  “Jutta, Your Royal Highness.”

  Dick patted the veined-stone ledge of the pool. “Well that’s a pretty name for a pretty girl. Come, join me here. How old are you, Jutta?”

  “I’m fourteen, Your Royal Highness.”

  “Exquisite. Now if you would—”

  “Master.” Crispin’s voice, sudden, unexpected, almost nervous as the manservant rushed into the hazy chamber.

  Dick pushed himself up and put a wet hand on the grip of a gun. “Yes, Crispin?” Oh no, this will be bad news. Yet there was no clamor anywhere. No shouting, no screaming, no horns, bells, or the sound of cannon firing.

  Crispin noticed the maid. She had retreated back to her place, hunkering behind a shield of soft towels. “I am terribly sorry to disturb you, Master—”

  “What happened? Has anyone died? My wife? My father?” Saint, please make it so!

  “Nothing like that, Master. You are urgently needed at the walls.”

  Shit! “What? Why? Has the enemy begun their attack?”

  “Not quite. But you must seek the reeve. Please, Master.”

  His gut clenched. “Tell me.”

  “The enemy has artillery, Master.”

  Dick shrugged, but he knew he was not going to like Crispin’s words. “Yes, they do…”

  “Not like this, Master. Please.”

  “Sweet Saint, can’t a man enjoy a bath?” Huffing, Dick emerged from the hot water. Jutta rushed over to swaddle him in red cotton. He was so annoyed, he didn’t even get excited when she rubbed his belly and thighs.

  “Your Royal Highness,” Reeve Gotelieb greeted him as he climbed onto the small cannon platform above the north gatehouse.

  This is not good, Dick thought when he noticed the platform was crowded with Drechknight officers. Ritter Heimo was there too, with several of his senior ensigns. The reeve’s second-in-command was standing by his superior. A grim and silent man, Dick had noted the few times he had met him. What was his name and rank again? Ah, yes, Komtur Poldi. The cannon crew was loitering in the back, watching the discussion with deep curiosity.

  Dick also saw Lieutenant Nils and several of the klingers who took grudging turns with the Eisenstar soldiers in providing escort and protection for him, much to Nils’ displeasure. The lieutenant never stopped stressing Dick’s solemn promise to be given personal charge of his safety. Dick kept reminding him that he hadn’t really said when he’d uphold that promise.

  There was a lot of chatter among the sentries posted at the wall and below, inside the city, he could hear the buzz of rumor and fear, but he purposefully ignored it, because he wanted to hear the bad news from the reeve.

  “Why all this fretting?”

  The Drechknight had a stern expression on his face
. “Has your manservant highlighted the urgency of this matter?”

  Dick looked back at Crispin. “Alas, he did.”

  “You still took an hour to get here, Your Royal Highness.”

  Dick spread his arms. “Would you have me walk around the city naked?”

  The reeve reddened. “You are wearing a doublet with feathers!”

  “I am sorry that my exquisite style and taste do not conform to your austere military standards.” No matter how urgent things were, unless blood was running knee-deep through the streets, there was always time for a prince to look fashionable.

  Possibly too angry for words, Gotelieb pointed northeast.

  One of the knights handed Dick a Darav telescope. Dick followed the finger to a hill ridge, quite busy with Hyevan activity.

  Saint’s gonads!

  That was the biggest cannon he had ever seen.

  It was a huge device, with wheels taller than a man, and a team of oxen pulling the monstrosity up a beaten dust road. The Hyevans walking on all sides seemed ecstatic, waving, chanting, capering. Even though Dick could not hear their words, he knew they were quite happy.

  “What is that thing?”

  “It is the Voice of Gramik.”

  Dick frowned. “Gramik?”

  “The ancient Hyevan God of Thunder. And it belongs to a mercenary captain Vanya, who had taken two months to wheel that cannon from Horlitz all the way here.” The reeve handed over a note.

  Dick read carefully. This seemed to be a secret report from a Builder. Old Fart still doesn’t trust me. “Hm, am I supposed to be impressed?” Dick said, trying to hide his annoyance.

  The reeve’s eyebrows shot up. “So far, had the enemy chosen to attack, our cannoncade would have inflicted massive casualties on them long before they would have been able to reach the walls or deploy their guns. This is probably why they had delayed attacking.” He pointed again. “And that. They were waiting for the Voice to reach Ostfort.”

  “Do you think it can render heavy damage?”

  A Drechknight stepped forward. “Seems so, Your Royal Highness. Based on the size and bore of its barrel, unless it explodes from too much charge, we assume it will have almost a thousandstep more range than our best cannon. They will be able to hit our walls with impunity, wearing them down stone by stone.”

  That is a complication. “Any other bad news?”

  “Captain Afanasy has tripled his price. And for another fifty thousand rods, he will also destroy the Voice and kill Vanya.”

  “What a charming man.” Dick liked this mercenary. He seemed to be a true merchant. An artist who took his profession and dodgy loyalty most seriously.

  “Any more bad news?”

  The reeve hesitated. “Yes and no, Your Royal Highness. My agents in Gradt report that over the last eightday, two separate convoys of ship had anchored in the harbor and unloaded troops. The first belongs to Duke Ettore of Sacony, and the second to First Citizen Vincenzo of Enissia.”

  Dick felt his own eyebrows rise. “First Citizen Vincenzo?” Wants to help me?

  “Of Enissia.”

  Dick didn’t like the information, but his mind was racing. “Why?”

  Reeve Gotelieb looked surprised by the question. “Because your father, the king, holds his daughter hostage.”

  Ah.

  Dick had forgotten about that.

  “And he comes to my aid, is that it? Has Old…my father sanctioned this?”

  “I don’t know, Your Royal Highness. The Sacony come as your allies, on your behest, and the Enissians bear a written treaty from the First Citizen. The Enissian army counts roughly five thousand men, mostly mercenaries from all around the inner sea, but also a small number of city folk and confederates. They came aboard Gepeni merchant ships.”

  “And Duke Ettore?”

  “His contingent consists of Gepeni veterans.”

  Dick frowned. “I thought the Gepeni were employed by the First Citizen?”

  The reeve smiled. “No, Your Royal Highness. Lord Vincenzo only used their ships to ferry his army, because most of his own navy is committed to protecting his commerce and fighting pirates.” The reeve paused. “Some of them, at least.”

  Dick buried his face in his palms. “I see.”

  “There have been several incidents, Your Royal Highness. The meister of Gradt reports the Valtese and the Nibusi in the Enissian service had quarreled over an old feud, leaving a hundred dead on the outskirts of the city. But largely, the two armies are busy marching north, side by side, each keen on being the first to get to Ostfort.”

  Every nation in the world has decided to come to Ostland, just to spite me. “Any other secrets, reeve?”

  “Enemy approaching!” one of the guards signaled.

  Everyone tensed. The air turned acrid with the smell of burning matches.

  Across the ripe, well-tilled fields, a procession of mounted Barvans was coming toward the walls, obviously keen on some kind of give-and-take. They stopped near the outer row of houses of a now-abandoned village, just outside the shooting range for most soldiers. There was a goat on a caved thatch roof, chewing on rotten straw.

  “Monrich! Words today, no blood,” they shouted.

  “Do not shoot,” Dick said. The order rippled down the wall. “I will talk to them.”

  “Your Royal Highness, Drechknight Mannus is an expert in negotiation. He also speaks Barvan.”

  “We shall speak Richs only. And I will do it!” He waved his hand toward the tribesmen. “Come. You will not be harmed.”

  “Monrich, how you like our gun? Bigger than yours.”

  From the corner of his eye, Dick noticed Kief approaching the gatehouse. A smile touched his lips. Ah, there’s a man who saved me from a dreadful duty! “Your gun?”

  The Barvans turned toward the hill where the Voice was being slowly, carefully manhandled. “Our gun destroy your walls. Big.”

  “I thought you were a nation of deeds, not empty boasts.” There was muttering among the soldiers and the knights.

  “Do not provoke them,” someone whispered. Must be the reeve.

  “I tell you what, Monrich. You give us your princess, we go.”

  Another one? What’s wrong with these savages? Dick let the tribesmen move in closer. He wanted them to be able to see his face. “I told her about your proposal. But she said she likes big Monrich cock better than small Barvan cock.” Dick pointed at his crotch. “Big.” A few soldiers cursed. Most sniggered.

  The tribesman did not look pleased. “Monrich, you will die slow when we take the city.”

  Dick leaned on the parapet. “If, my little sheep lover. If. Tell me, is that your goat on the roof there? Have you taken a mistress?”

  The soldiers were laughing loudly now. There was a definite aura of violence on the siege wall now.

  “They are trying to negotiate, and you are dishonoring them,” Reeve Gotelieb rasped.

  Dick found the interruption annoying. “If they had any intent on peacefully resolving this siege, they would have sent messengers into the city a long time ago. They are trying to intimidate us. Make us act rashly. Test our resolve and defenses. Until that thing fires, we’re not worse off than we are now.”

  “Except our rations are dwindling rapidly.”

  Dick turned at the Drechknight. “Reeve, I never took you for a coward.”

  “Monrich, come down fight me. You win, we go.”

  Dick looked back at the enemy. “And who are you?”

  “Ernald, son of Waleran, the chieftain of Luchs. I have killed seventy-nine men!” He lifted a necklace above his thick, bearded head. It was strung with ears, from what Dick could see at the distance. “You, Monrich?”

  Dick flicked a shiny peacock feather on his shoulder. “I am Dietrich II, the Warden of the East. I have bedded seventy-nine whores in Wildsbruck alone!” The whole garrison was laughing now.

  “You laugh now, Monrich. You will not be happy when we take your woman.”

 
On the contrary, I will be delighted. Old Fart might not be, though. “I can’t say the same for your women, Ernald. From what I heard, they all look like bears!” The men were in tears.

  The Barvan wheeled his horse around and cantered away, followed by his retinue of warriors.

  Reeve Gotlieb bristled. “Are you pleased, Your Royal Highness?”

  Dick smoothed his doublet. “If you’re wondering, that was expert negotiation.”

  Gotelieb was breathing through his nostrils, trying to contain his anger. “The enemy may attack us, after what you’ve just said. We are not ready to repel them.”

  “We are as ready as we can be. Our defenses won’t get any stronger just by talking or praying. If we can get the foe to commit now before they are ready, we might exact heavy casualties on their side, and make our chances better for when they finally get that cannon ready to fire. That is when they will attack.”

  The reeve knew he could not win the argument. “All right, Your Royal Highness, what do you suggest, then?”

  Dick glanced around. Everyone was watching him, waiting. They wanted to hear his opinion. Good news, there will not be any shortage of food, he wanted to tell them, because this war will have been concluded before we run out of onions and turnips and resort to eating horses. “We have allies coming to our side. I want those armies intercepted by your messengers, Reeve. I want them to coordinate their move and work together. Under a single banner. My banner. If they wish me to tolerate their presence in Ostland, they must obey my rules. That includes Duke Ettore.” His chubby little daughter may be here, but I’m the warden, and this is my palatine.

  The reeve snapped his fingers. An adjutant started scribbling notes on travel paper, oiled and proofed against rain.

  “The Salabians and Koravs must disengage from all other duties.” Dick tried to remember the flurry of reports, the uncomfortable hours spent poring through letters while Lady Enduria watched him like a hawk, waiting for him to lose courage and flinch. “I don’t care about Banatians or Maniri or Belgorians or any other excuse. I want the baans to send their ships. I want Bolek’s troops to relieve Loblank, so that our troops can march forth and assist us.”