The Mansions of Idumea (Book 3 Forest at the Edge series)

The Shin family stepped out of the mansion’s coach in Pools and stared at the long building before them. Or rather, they stared at the long line of people waiting to get into that building.

  Perrin let out a low whistle as the coach drove off to the livery stables nearby. “They said Gizzada was successful, but this?” He gestured feebly, and his family nodded in astonishment.

  It wasn’t the first thing Mahrree marveled at that evening. After two dreadful days of Dinner preparation, Joriana surprised them with the suggestion that it was time for the family to be Seen. And the best place to be Seen was at Gizzada’s restaurant in Pools.

  “Seen . . . doing what, eating?” Perrin had asked, confused. He was initially pleased with the idea of visiting his former staff sergeant’s place, until he saw just how excited his mother was about it.

  “Gizzada’s is the talk of the whole city! And of Pools! And Orchards, and anywhere within thirty miles! Only the best and brightest can afford to go there.”

  “Well, that excludes us,” Peto sounded disappointed. “One look at us, and they’ll—”

  “Oh, no,” Joriana said firmly, “you’ll get in. You’ll dress up in that shirt I bought you today, young man. Jaytsy and your mother in their new best dresses, Perrin in his uniform, all of you in our coach—you’ll be Seen.”

  “I’m rather surprised,” Mahrree had said, “that Gizzada’s sandwiches are so popular. I mean yes, there’s nothing in the world quite like them, but—”

  “Sandwiches? Gizzada doesn’t do sandwiches, Mahrree,” Joriana hooted. “He does quizeen. Rather like some of what your mother tries, but . . . bigger. You’ll see. It’s amazing! And here,” she slipped something into Perrin’s hand.

  His eyes bulged. “A full gold slip?”

  “It’s a bit pricey, but well worth it. Dinner’s on me. Go now. Enjoy!”

  With shared looks of confusion, they went. An hour’s drive later they arrived on a busy road in Pools, and wondered if the same tubby man they knew in Edge years ago really was attached to such a place as this. This was nothing like the Inn at Edge, where Hycymum and another girl whipped up meals and desserts for travelers or villagers in the mood for something different.

  First, the Inn at Edge didn’t have trees and flowers and vines all over the building, as if a controlled explosion of Nature had been aimed directly at it.

  Nor did the Inn at Edge have tables and chairs outside the building where guests in silks and fine woolens and wraps of fur sat to wait for an opening inside. In fact, nothing in Edge had chairs and tables quite like these. Apparently some blacksmiths decided horse shoes weren’t interesting enough, and instead twisted iron into curious shapes that bordered on works of art that people then rudely sat upon or leaned against. Fires in large round pots were artfully placed around the area to warm those feeling the evening chill, and to illuminate the vegetation that adorned the simple yet grand stone and planked structure.

  Above the wide doorway was a painted board with the word Gizzada’s wrought in more black twisted iron, and illuminated by black torches on either side. Standing before the door was a rather burly man dressed in a crisp white tunic and black trousers. He stood almost as if at attention, and stiffly opened the door as guests went in and out. He opened it now for an older man also similarly dressed who held a small board and announced in a sufficiently bored tone, “Lansing, party of four. James, party of two.”

  Six people immediately rose and strode eagerly but elegantly to the opened doors, where a third man led them away.

  Peto scowled. “Eating with any of them would not be a party, I’m sure.”

  “This is crazy,” Perrin murmured, and headed for the still-open door, his family behind him. “Excuse me,” he said to the older man, “Exactly how long a wait for dinner?”

  Several people in earshot sniggered at the Shins, and someone said derisively, “Locals.”

  Another voice near a fire said, “Careful—brass buttons,” and Mahrree glanced over to see several people taking in her husband’s jacket. Suddenly, he and his “party” were worthy to stand among them. The whisper of “brass buttons” filtered down none-too-subtly among the hungry hopefuls, while Perrin’s ears went red.

  “Oh, brother,” Jaytsy murmured in disgust.

  “You said it, sister,” Peto murmured back.

  Mahrree pursed her lips to keep from smiling, but Perrin was still waiting for an answer.

  The man at the door looked him up and down. “Colonel, is it? You look vaguely familiar. You’re not the younger Shin, are you?”

  Perrin sighed loudly as another murmur of “Could be the younger Shin,” traveled along the fancy-dressed waiting.

  “Does it matter?” Perrin asked.

  “It does if you want to eat in an hour, or in three,” the man shrugged.

  “An hour?” Peto wailed softly. Mahrree elbowed him.

  Perrin glanced at the line of Idumea’s elite and saw all of them watching him back. “Look,” he said quietly to the man at the door, “I’m an old friend of Gizzada’s, and we only wanted to say hi—”

  “Mr. Sheff Gizzada has many friends,” the older man intoned, and he held out his hand.

  Perrin frowned at it. “Something wrong with your hand—Oh, wait. Now I remember.” He fumbled around in his trousers’ pocket.

  “Sheff?” Peto murmured to Jaytsy. “That’s his first name? I thought it was Zadda.”

  “Seriously?” Jaytsy whispered back. “You think his parents named him Zadda Gizzada? Zadda was the name we gave him when we were little. You’ve got to be the dumbest—Ow!”

  Mahrree’s boot heel came down on her daughter’s toes as Perrin fished out a slip of silver and dropped it into the man’s hand.

  “Wait, you have to bribe people to—Ow!” Peto’s question was abruptly stopped, again by Mahrree’s boot, which was getting quite the workout on her children’s feet.

  The man at the door looked down at the silver on his palm. “Not much of a friend of Mr. Sheff’s, I see.”

  Perrin’s mouth dropped open and Mahrree was about to protest when a booming voice from behind the man surprised them all.

  “My Little Ones! Are not so little! I heard you came to Idumea, but I can’t believe you’re here!”

  Through the door burst an enormously round man the color of rich brown soil, with flushed dark red cheeks and a massive grin. His arms were held out wide as he plowed unceremoniously over his employees stationed at the door.

  “It’s the Shins!” Gizzada bellowed, and he caught Perrin and Mahrree in a huge hug. “And that just can NOT be my little Jaytsy and Peto!”

  Perrin and Mahrree would have laughed if Gizzada hadn’t been squeezing the breath out of them. But Jaytsy and Peto howled at the former soldier who always had a treat, or four or five, in his pocket for the commander’s children.

  “Zadda!” they cried as he finally released a winded and chuckling Perrin and Mahrree, and embraced both children next.

  Mahrree couldn’t help but gaze down the line of waiting wealthy. Each fancy-dressed man and woman wore the look of stunned envy and, for the first time since she came to the city, she felt as if she belonged there.

  “Oh, my,” Gizzada chuckled as he finally let the children go. He eyed Jaytsy and glanced nervously at Perrin. “I’m sorry—I probably shouldn’t have done that, seeing as how you’re such a . . . my goodness, such a young woman.” He shook his head in amazement at Jaytsy.

  Mahrree cleared her throat and gave a look to her husband. Even his former staff sergeant could see what their daughter had become, so should Perrin.

  “And Peto! Well, I guess you’ll get there too, son,” Gizzada slapped his skinny back. “But Colonel Shin! I heard about that promotion! And Mrs. Shin—so glad you’re here!” His grin was dazzling. “Come in! Come in!”

  To the astonishment of everyone else standing in line—and the two employees at the door—Gizzada ushered in the Shin family ahead of everyone else.

  Excep
t for Peto, who turned to the startled men. “My father told you we were friends of Gizzada. Next time, you should probably listen. He’s not wearing that sword just for show, you know.”

  “Peto!” Perrin barked, but the damage was done, the men were pale, and Peto snickered in triumph as he followed his family and Gizzada into the restaurant.

  “Gizzada, I can’t believe what you’ve created here!” Mahrree gasped in astonishment at what now redefined “fancy” in her mind. Tables were covered in linen cloths, and the plates were made of white fired clay she later learned was called porcelain. Even the forks, knives, and spoons were hammered with elaborate designs on the handles. Silk cloths with intricately woven designs covered the walls, and set in tall arrangements on each table were more flowers and vines which, Mahrree noticed later, were also bafflingly made of silk. Candles in fantastically detailed holders illuminated the tables, each occupied by more wearers of fine wool and dead furs, chatting happily and eating daintily. Somewhere a few people were playing flutes and guitars as accompaniment, which Mahrree thought the oddest thing to listen to while one was trying to eat and talk. Weaving in and out of the tables were men in pristine white tunics and black trousers carrying trays of food so carefully laid out that each was a miniature work of art that would last only a moment before it was consumed.

  “Truly astounding, Staff Sergeant,” Perrin said as he eyed the water fountain bubbling in the middle of the restaurant. “I’m completely overwhelmed.”

  Gizzada smiled and cleared his throat. “But that’s not what you really think, Colonel.” Gizzada cocked his head toward a door across the crowded room. “Follow me.”

  Through the tables they wove, people frequently catching Gizzada’s arm to compliment “Sheff!” on one thing or another, and cheerfully he took their thanks but picked up his pace. He opened a finely carved door and the Shins filed into a private room with a long table, vases of fresh blossoms, and forks that looked to be made of gold. Gizzada closed the door behind them.

  “Private party of senior officers will be here soon,” he gestured lazily at the table, “but we have a few minutes until they come in. So, will the High General recover?” he asked Perrin.

  “Seems he will, even if he couldn’t finish that fantastic sandwich you sent over earlier today. That’s what got us all hungry.”

  Gizzada grinned. “I was hoping he’d enjoy that.”

  “So you still know how to make them?” Peto asked. “Because what I saw out there—Gizzada, on those plates was barely enough to feed a rabbit.”

  “Peto!” Mahrree snapped at his rudeness.

  “No, he’s right,” Gizzada nodded. “That food’s ridiculous. Tiny portions in silly presentations—that’s what the elite of Idumea like, Peto, as ridiculous as it is. But,” and he leaned in closer, “feeding them allows me to feed others, and properly.”

  “What do you mean?” Peto said.

  “Tell me what you want, and I’ll get it.” He turned to Perrin and Mahrree. “Do you want what Idumeans call high culture, or do you want something that will put some muscle on that skinny boy?”

  “Muscle!” Perrin declared. “Please!”

  Gizzada put a finger to his lips and said, “Then follow me to the best kept secret in Pools and Idumea.” He opened the door and the Shins followed him out of the room and toward the kitchens.

  And that was another shock, to pass so many stoves and ovens and boiling pots and open flames and work tables and men and women frequently shouting “Sheff!” and rushing to set up plates and almost crashing into the four strangers that nearly tripped in their hurry to follow “Sheff!” to another door which . . .

  . . . ended in a small storage room.

  “Very secretive,” Peto said. “I can see why you don’t want anyone knowing where you store the potatoes.”

  Gizzada chuckled and said, “No, my still Little One—” he grinned as Peto scowled at the earned insult, “—this is the secret.” He cracked opened another door that, a moment before looked like a planked wall. “Take a peek, Colonel, and tell me if this is more to your liking.”

  Perrin peered in. “Now that’s more like it!”

  Mahrree peeked under his arm to see a much different view. Instead of fancy cloth and wrought iron chairs, there were long wooden tables with log benches. Instead of fabric draping the walls, there were high clear windows that let in the fading sunlight. Instead of a water fountain in the middle room, there was a large fire pit with benches all around where people could chat and warm themselves.

  Mahrree chuckled.

  Counters on two sides of the room had tall stools crowded along them, and a board on the wall listed the simple menu: Meat of the Day, Dessert of the Day, Gizzada sandwich, small or large. The prices were also quite reasonable: a small sandwich was only a quarter slip of silver, and the large was half a slip.

  And, just like the restaurant in the front, this place was packed with customers. But none of them were dressed in anything finer than layers of worn cotton, patched woolens, or army jackets. In fact, half of the room seemed to wear the uniform, and the loudness of their laughter also signaled to Mahrree these weren’t officers, but enlisted men temporarily freed from the hovering of their superiors.

  “Uh, they can be a bit rough,” Gizzada said hesitantly as he closed the door again. “Especially with a little ale in them,” he muttered.

  “What’s ale?” Perrin asked.

  Gizzada waved that away. “Something I started brewing up last year. Nothing you’d like. But I’ll have a word with Margo before I take you in there. She’ll keep them proper. Well, Edge-level proper, if you know what I mean.”

  Mahrree winked. “I teach teenage boys, Gizzada, and the children are in full school. I think we can handle them.”

  Gizzada and Perrin shared a knowing look.

  “Cute, isn’t it,” Perrin said to his former staff sergeant, “how she thinks she knows enlisted men?”

  “Come to think of it, I’ll threaten the men myself,” Gizzada patted Perrin on the shoulder. “But first—we have a slight problem, with this.” He fingered a brass button and raised his dark eyebrows. “You see, I have a dress code, and brass buttons belong in the front, not here in the back. Makes the men nervous, you know. Not that any brass has ever tried to come back here before, but I do have standards to maintain.”

  The Shins chuckled. “Understood,” Perrin said. “The last thing I want to do is cause you to lose any patrons. What do you want me to do about this ugly thing?”

  “Take it off,” Gizzada said easily.

  “Eat without my jacket?”

  “Eat without messing it up, yes. I remember you losing control of my large sandwiches, sir. Spilling it all over that jacket? Tsk-tsk. What would your mother say?”

  The Shins laughed, and Perrin was already halfway to undressing.

  “Don’t worry,” Gizzada said, “we have lots of army men remove the jacket here. You won’t be the first or only white undershirt in the room. Gives men a sense of release. No jacket, no ranking. Hope that doesn’t offend you—”

  “Not one bit,” Perrin assured him.

  “If only I had a white fur coat stitched with butterflies to lend you.” Gizzada slipped out the door into the secret back room. A chorus of “Sarge!” came through the door as his guests greeted their favorite ex-soldier.

  “How many names does the man have?” Peto wondered.

  “I feel like we’re doing something naughty,” Jaytsy giggled. “Sneaking into the back.”

  Mahrree nodded. “I know. What would your grandparents think? We’ll be Seen, but in the wrong half of the restaurant.”

  From behind the closed door they heard a deep woman’s voice holler, “All right, now—Mr. Gizzada has friends from the north here. Sharpen up, you—yes, you lot over there, now. Women and children coming in. Oy! I said, sharpen up! Women and children! No more of that mouth or I’ll tell your wife the truth of why you were late last week.”


  Gizzada slipped back in, a little embarrassed. “I guess Margo’s got things in hand after all. If you’d like to follow me, sir?”

  “Only if you call me Perrin. You’re not my soldier anymore.”

  Gizzada winked. “And only if you all call me Zadda. I rather missed hearing that.”

  “Give me your jacket,” Mahrree whispered to her husband. She rolled it up so that it was merely a blue bundle tucked under her arm, and she followed the rest of her family into the back room.

  The multiple conversations—far louder and more raucous than anything in the front end—paused to evaluate the newcomers, then resumed noisily as Gizzada gestured to a woman large and beefy enough that she could have been Perrin’s sister.

  “Margo will take your order and see to it that everything remains . . . fine. Now, I have to attend to some business up front, but I’ll be back later to check on you. And Peto—I’m expecting you to order a large sandwich, and I also expect you to finish it before your father.”

  Peto beamed. “You’ve got it, Zadda!”

  Gizzada turned to leave, but stopped and smiled warmly at the family. “So good to see you all again! Margo, I’ll be making their orders myself.” And with that, he hustled out the door.

  “Well,” Margo said in a shockingly deep voice, “what have we here?”

  Mahrree was about to explain who they were when she realized the brutish woman wasn’t looking at her, or even her children, but directly at her husband. Or rather, her husband’s muscled and defined torso, which stretched the white undershirt to its limits.

  Mahrree made a mental note to see if any shops in Idumea made baggier undershirts.

  “Some friends looking to eat, eh?” Margo said as she eyed the colonel. “Looks like you’ve done quite a bit of eating already, my dear man—”

  Peto and Jaytsy chortled loudly behind their hands, while Mahrree slowly began to fume. It wasn’t the enlisted men and their inappropriateness they needed to worry about; it was Margo.

  Perrin cleared his throat loudly, and the woman looked up into his eyes. She released a little whimper, and Mahrree wasn’t sure if she was about to swoon or challenge him to an arm wrestle.

  “Yes, thank you,” Perrin said loudly, and put his arm around Mahrree. “My wife, children and I would each like a Gizzada sandwich. Two small, two large. If it’s not too much trouble.”

  Margo’s eyes traveled down to Mahrree, who put on a big smile and fluttered her eyelashes, hoping Margo would realize that Perrin preferred petite women whose meaty biceps didn’t rival his.

  Margo’s upper lip curled into a subtle snarl, and she snapped out of whatever daydream she’d fallen into. “Two large and two small. Coming up. Find yourself a seat anywhere.” She waved vaguely, and at the door that lead to the kitchen she hollered, “Two large, two small—Gizzada special.” She turned back to the family. “Means he makes it. Mead? Ale?”

  “Water, please,” Perrin said amiably. “Pools has the greatest water in the world, after all.”

  “To make ale with,” Margo mumbled as she headed to one of the counters to retrieve their drinks.

  Mahrree gestured to a table with free space at the end. “How about there?” she suggested. And, without any assistance from any men in black and white outfits, the family managed to sit down all by themselves, Perrin and Peto on one side of the well-worn wood table, Mahrree and Jaytsy across from them

  Laughter from behind Perrin erupted so loudly that Peto wiggled his ears. “Yow! The joke wasn’t even funny. All I heard was, ‘And then she said, That’s not a melon.’ I don’t get it.”

  But Perrin was rubbing his forehead vigorously and his ears were bright red. Mahrree was quite sure that, without even knowing the first part of the story, he did get it by the end.

  He leaned back, cleared his throat loudly, and said to the men behind him, “Women and children, or do I need to get Margo over here to remind you?”

  “Sorry, friend,” a man called over to him.

  Without turning around, Perrin raised his hand in a conciliatory manner. “Thank you.” To his family he opened his mouth, looked at his daughter and son, then shut it again. Eventually he said, “Just don’t listen too closely. They’ll forget again in about five minutes that we’re here, and, well, while it sounds like they’re talking about vegetables and fruit . . . they really aren’t.”

  Mahrree suppressed an uncomfortable smile and nodded, but Jaytsy said, “So what are they really talking about, then?”

  Now it was Mahrree’s turn to rub her head while her husband stared worriedly at his daughter. “You’ve heard Riplak and Kindiri talking about . . . sweet rolls, right?” Perrin ventured cautiously.

  Jaytsy blinked in innocence and nodded. So did Peto.

  Perrin swallowed hard and looked at his wife.

  Mahrree smiled at him. “Go on. You’re doing just fine.” Then, because she so enjoyed his extreme discomfort, she added, “So they’re not really talking about sweet rolls either?”

  Perrin sighed and turned back to his teenagers. “When Riplak says ‘sweet roll,’ and does that thing with his eyebrows, he’s actually . . .”

  His children looked at him earnestly, sitting at the edge of their benches.

  Mahrree shook her head at her husband and snorted.

  “You could offer some assistance here,” he murmured at her.

  “Sorry,” she batted her eyelashes. “I simply don’t know that much about soldiers and such, remember?”

  Perrin glared at her, then turned back to the questioning faces of his teenagers. “Let’s just say the men talk about food when they’re hungry.”

  Peto and Jaytsy looked at each other dubiously.

  Jaytsy turned back to Perrin. “Uh-huh. I am nearly fifteen, Father. I know that they’re talking about other things.” But something in her expression suggested that she wasn’t entirely sure what those other things were yet, either.

  Peto merely shrugged. “Yeah, but I don’t find any of that interesting.”

  Perrin rubbed his face with both hands, not daring to ask exactly what Peto thought “that” was. “Our food should be here by now, shouldn’t it?” He looked at the door anxiously, while Mahrree giggled. She’d have another little talk with Jaytsy later, but Peto—he was all Perrin’s to deal with.

  Another door, connecting to the alley behind the building, banged open and several men in blue jackets poured in. Mahrree hadn’t noticed the door before, but it seemed to be the main access to the back restaurant. She wondered if Gizzada could even fit through the narrow opening, which probably looked like nothing interesting from the outside, and sure not to draw the attention of anyone in an officer’s uniform.

  “Margo!” one of the men called. “Brought some brassies for some scrubbed up dinner, but they’ll be waiting for hours. The boys here and I are starving, so we’ll want it all tonight. Meat of the day first, love.”

  As the six men filed happily in, and good-naturedly shoved some acquaintances further down the table behind Perrin to make room for themselves, Peto leaned over to his father.

  “Bunch of brassies? Are they talking about—”

  “Officers,” Perrin said quietly to his family. “Senior officers, to be specific. Brass buttons. That’s why mine are hidden under the table by your mother.”

  Jaytsy leaned forward. “They don’t seem to be too happy about ‘brassies’.”

  Perrin bobbed his head back and forth. “They’re not. Some of the officers treat the enlisted men more like servants than soldiers. These sergeants—they’re sergeants, right?”

  Mahrree glanced at their insignias and nodded. “Three are sergeants,” she whispered back, “Two of them staff, another a master, then two corporals, and a private.”

  “But it’s the sergeants making the most noise. That’s because they’ve been in the army long enough to develop an opinion, and to earn the right to express it,” Perrin told them quietly. Then he smiled. “My father would love this place. He alw
ays suspected the enlisted men gathered to gossip about the officers, but he never knew where or what they said. I almost feel like a spy. I bet Gizzada hears all kinds of things back here.”

  The kitchen door opened and in came a young woman with four enormous sandwiches, two twice as big as the others. “Order for . . .” Her face screwed up in confusion. “Be Discreet—”

  Perrin immediately stood up. “That’s for us,” he said, taking the platter of food before she could announce the name.

  Her eyes grew big as she stared at the colonel, but a narrowing of his eyes told her that she needn’t say anything else. She nodded before she hurried back to the kitchen.

  Mahrree exhaled as Perrin sat. “That was close. She nearly exposed our spy ring.”

  “What’s wrong with people knowing our name?” Jaytsy asked as she nervously eyed the massive sandwich consisting of three kinds of breads, four kinds of meats, two kinds of cheeses, two kinds of sauces, and every vegetable that can be sliced thinly and stacked between everything else. “And does this look bigger than it used to?”

  “First, the name of Shin is associated primarily with one person—my father,” Perrin said softly, “so we really don’t need that kind of attention. Second, oh yes—this is even bigger than I remember. Peto, if you can finish that, I’ll buy you a horse with my pay increase.”

  “Very funny, Father,” Peto sneered. “The last thing I want is a horse, and you know it. But maybe he’s added horse meat to this.”

  Mahrree just shook her head at what sat in front of her, daring her to even find a way to bite it. “I don’t even know where to start.” She smashed it experimentally, flattening it to be narrow enough to fit into her mouth. “Ah, but I’ve missed Gizzada!”

  For the next ten minutes the Shin family did nothing but chew and sigh in pure satisfaction, until the weight of the food in their bellies, and the amount of what still remained on their plates, caused Mahrree and Jaytsy to admit defeat and take a rest.

  Perrin and Peto, however, watched each other’s bites to time who could down their food the fastest, but Mahrree fretted privately that the winner of the contest would be which male didn’t heave it all up later again.

  The table of enlisted men behind Perrin had also gone quiet as they dove into some kind of meat concoction with gravy and curls of something on top, and only as they started sucking on the bones did they began to talk loudly about brassies again.

  “I’ll tell you,” a staff sergeant began to his audience of still chewing men, “get the wrong kind of brassy in charge, and nothing gets done unless the sergeants step up and take over.”

  “Hear, hear!” another sergeant garbled with a mouthful. Two more men pounded the table in agreement.

  “Take the brassy I brung here tonight. Colonel Snyd just sits in his office giving commands then walks around with his hands behind his back as if he owns the place, while the rest of us run around doing the training, the orders, the everything! I’m telling you, brassies wouldn’t last a minute without all of us making them look good.”

  Mahrree looked over to Perrin to gauge his response. He was licking his fingers as some sauce dribbled out of his sandwich, and Mahrree realized, by the drippings on his white shirt, that Gizzada’s recommendation for him to remove his jacket was most timely. Perrin caught her eye and winked at her.

  She raised her eyebrows toward the conversation behind him, and he merely shrugged in agreement.

  “Snyd,” he mouthed and sneered. Not one of his favorite brassies, either.

  Mahrree smiled.

  “Still, he’s better than my brassy,” another sergeant spoke up. He downed his mug of mead, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and belched loudly. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am,” he nodded toward Mahrree, who nodded politely back. “But my brassy,” said the sergeant during another belch he didn’t seem to notice leaking out, “he’s that Thorne, and I’m telling you—he’s a mean one.”

  Mahrree again watched Perrin, who just subtly nodded and took another big bite, from which escaped a slice of something that landed smartly on his lap.

  Several of the men grumbled in agreement about Thorne this and Thorne that.

  “Gotta boy, too. Soon to be graduating. Pity the commander who gets stuck with that brat.”

  “Hey, every commander deserves that brat.”

  A few more men seconded the declaration, and Perrin chuckled quietly as he licked his fingers again. So he wasn’t the only one not overly impressed with Lieutenant Thorne.

  “At least Thorne promotes people,” the first staff sergeant complained. “I’ve been trying to get Snyd’s attention for years, but he doesn’t see anything past his own buttons.”

  Mahrree wondered how Perrin would react to the accusation of a commander not promoting his men.

  To her surprise, Perrin picked up a cloth and wiped off his fingers. He sent a wink to Mahrree, then leaned back to the table behind him. Without turning around, he addressed the sergeant.

  “Got an idea for you,” Perrin said. “I worked with Snyd some years back. He likes to hear about people suffering.”

  The sergeant scowled at the back of Perrin’s head. “That sounds about right, but how do I make that work for me?”

  Perrin turned part way to see the man. “Have to get it back to the colonel that men are complaining about you. That maybe you’re working them too hard, or something. Private,” Perrin gestured with his sandwich at a young man seated next to the staff sergeant, “you work under that man?”

  The private nodded. “Staff Sergeant’s the best, sir!” he barked loyally.

  “Good dog,” Perrin said, “but that’s not what Snyd needs to hear. You’re acting as footman tonight for his carriage, right?”

  The private nodded eagerly. Privates weren’t allowed to do anything more interesting than that, anyway.

  “When you’re helping Snyd out of the carriage, let something slip about the sergeant’s treatment of you tonight. Say that he, I don’t know—made you scrub the mud off the wheels because you were disrespectful, or that he made you braid the horses’ mane, then had you take it all out again because he didn’t like the effect. But you’ve got to say it in the right way.” Perrin turned more fully to the table that sat in rapt attention to this unknown insider’s suggestions. “Sound like you’re whining, it’ll hurt you, but say it in genuinely pained admiration, Snyd will remember it.”

  “Tell him what to say, friend,” another soldier encouraged.

  Perrin put on a thoughtful expression. “Snyd, sir,” he said in a passable imitation of the young private that made him turn red and the other soldiers snicker, “thank you for assigning me to this duty tonight. Staff Sergeant—” Perrin pointed to the man for his name.

  “Oblong.”

  Perrin blinked at that before he continued, “Staff Sergeant Oblong was most instructive tonight on the merits of keeping one’s carriage wheels spotless, and the finer points of horses’ mane presentation.”

  Half the men were already laughing, while the other half shushed them to hear the rest.

  “Sir, while I so appreciate this opportunity, may I instead respectfully request some other kind of duty in the future, such as . . . cleaning out the latrines?” Perrin finished in an innocent smile which made all of the men burst out laughing.

  “That just might work!” Oblong said. “Snyd would always assign the private to me as punishment—”

  The private grinned, because even eighteen-year-olds know that spending the evening eating was an unbeatable assignment.

  “—and Snyd will think me a most slagging son of a sow, and give me a promotion!”

  Perrin winced at the man’s rough language, but Mahrree just looked down at the table and shook her head slightly. He didn’t need to ruin the moment by reminding the men that women and children were present.

  “Glad to be of help,” Perrin said, and turned back to the second half of his sandwich.

  “When did you work for Snyd?” a s
oldier asked him.

  Without turning around, Perrin waved his hand. “About seven or eight years ago. When he was first installed as commander at Pools.”

  Mahrree finished the rest of it in her head. And I trained him in how to be a commander, but I promise I didn’t teach him how to be a narrow-sighted old goat.

  “Where are you serving now?” another man asked.

  Mahrree cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you realize my husband’s in the middle of a very important contest. You see, our son thinks he can finish his Large Gizzada before his father, and unfortunately he seems to be winning at the moment.”

  The soldiers nodded and grinned.

  “Gotta respect a man who brings his son here for a meal,” Oblong said. “Teach the boy what real eating is.”

  Mahrree smiled sweetly at Oblong and kicked Jaytsy under the table, who was trying to control her giggling.

  The discussion at the other table turned back to their brassies. “So Snyd and Thorne are here eating together?” asked the private.

  “Do so every moon or so,” a master sergeant said. “Suspect they’re feeling each other out. Both are eying the mansion of the High General. He retires in two years, you know. Good thing he survived that tremor, eh? But soon some younger man’s gotta take the spot. Cush is just too old.”

  Mahrree noticed Perrin had stopped chewing his sandwich, and had frozen in position.

  “Nah, they might put Cush in for a time. But I think Thorne will get it in the end.”

  Perrin’s eyes shifted to Mahrree, and she noticed a level of alarm in them. Naturally, he didn’t want the position, but maybe this was the first time it occurred to him that someone else—someone he thought less worthy—would take it instead.

  “I don’t know,” mused another sergeant. “While Thorne’s the commander of the garrison, Snyd’s been commanding his own fort for longer. I think that might edge him out as High General.”

  Perrin’s jaw clenched, and Mahrree mouthed to him, It has to be someone.

  “There are others,” another man offered. “What about that younger Shin? Isn’t he somewhere up in the north?”

  At that, even Peto paused his non-stop gulping and listened to the talk behind him.

  “Gizzada even worked with that Shin,” another man reminded them. “Said he was the most decent officer he’s ever known. Said he did the dangerous work in the forest, wouldn’t let anyone else do it.”

  Perrin stared at his sandwich, but a corner of his mouth went up.

  “Yeah, but he’s been quiet for a while. Probably turned into one of those daft people who actually likes the mountains,” another man said.

  Peto sneered and started to turn around to the table, until Perrin elbowed him.

  “He’s only a lieutenant colonel, anyway,” pointed out another voice.

  “No, he’s not. Not anymore,” said one of Thorne’s men. “They just promoted him to colonel. Thorne wasn’t too happy about that.”

  “I heard that too. I also heard he finally left the mountains and came down to see his father when he heard he’d been buried.”

  “It’s about time. Shin never comes to Idumea. How are you supposed to be a commander for the army if you never come back to the army’s headquarters? Check in with your father? I bet he’s gone a bit local.”

  Mahrree squinted at her husband, looking for the meaning of that.

  Perrin just shook his head slightly.

  “No, no—Gizzada said he wasn’t a stupid northerner at all.”

  Now Mahrree pursed her lips and thought of a variety of ways to disprove the phrase ‘a bit local.’

  “Best officer he knew,” a soldier continued. “Shin just liked the small village.”

  “But he’s down here now, right?”

  “Yeah, and he even brought his wife and children—a son and a daughter, I think . . . Oh, slag.”

  “What is it?”

  “Oh, slagging slag . . . shut up!”

  “What? Why?”

  “Just shut up! SHUT UP!”

  None of the Shins had moved a muscle in the last minute, too engrossed in the conversation behind them that now fell silent.

  Except for Peto who whispered, “Women and children, women and children . . . that Margo’s not doing her job. I distinctly heard the ‘s’ words—”

  “You mean,” Perrin hissed at him, “shut up?”

  Mahrree dared to take her eyes off her husband and look instead at the soldiers behind him.

  Every last one of them was staring at the back of his head, and the color was draining out of their faces.

  “Slagging son of a sow . . .” murmured another man.

  All around them conversations and laughter continued, except at the table full of enlisted men.

  Perrin set his sandwich down and caught his wife’s gaze. He mouthed to her, Don’t move.

  Mahrree noticed some movement behind him, and tried to subtly redirect his gaze, but he just studied her as if working out what do to next.

  “Uh, Father—” Jaytsy started, and Perrin shifted his gaze to her. He widened his eyes in warning.

  “But, Father—”

  “Jayts!” he snarled. “Just don’t say—”

  He noticed she was no longer looking at him, but at something above him. Slowly his eyes traveled up to see five men standing at the end of the table, each at stiff attention with his hand in salute.

  Perrin puffed out his cheeks and released his breath. He craned his neck to look behind him and saw another dozen men in anxious formation.

  “Colonel Shin!” announced Staff Sergeant Oblong. “What an honor it is to have you in our presence!”

  “And sorry for the reference about the slagging son of a sow,” another soldier behind him muttered urgently. “Not intended at you, sir.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” Perrin mumbled. He reluctantly got to his feet, his hands in the air as a kind of surrender. “I’m not about to salute you back, you know, because I was told that when the jacket came off, so did the ranking. My jacket’s currently balled up and I’m here as a hungry man looking for a meal better than what those ridiculous brassies are waiting for out there, so if you’d all just take your seats again, I’d really appreciate it. And now I’m behind in this eating contest with my son, so unless you stop all this saluting nonsense, I may get a bit annoyed.”

  Turn on the charm, Mahrree tried to send him the message. Use that smile—the good one, not the scary one. Come on, you remember how—ah, very good. Almost convincing.

  Each of the enlisted men slowly put their hands down, watching each other to make sure they did it at roughly the same time.

  “And yes,” Perrin said, trying for a broader grin, “I am completely daft, stupid, whatever, because I love the mountains, and hate everything about Idumea . . . except for this sandwich which, I have to admit, is starting to get the better of me.” He pounded his chest with his fist as if to dislodge something. “Exactly where do you put it all?”

  The soldiers grinned and visibly relaxed, some even sitting back down.

  “Please, sir,” Sergeant Oblong said, still a bit shaky, “we didn’t mean any disrespect, we just—”

  “Spoke the truth,” Perrin said, patting him on the shoulder. “I didn’t hear a word that I didn’t agree with. And if you can’t speak freely here, where can you speak? I’m only sorry I made any of you uncomfortable. That wasn’t my intention. My intention was to eat a great meal. And, incidentally, my best friend is also my master sergeant.”

  Oblong smiled. “Gizzada was right about you.”

  “And I’m right about Snyd,” Perrin said to deflect the compliment. “You and the private should practice what he’ll say so that you both give the same story.”

  “Sir, I hope this isn’t too forward, but can I buy you a mug of ale?”

  Perrin frowned. “I’m not sure that’s entirely appropriate, but here’s an idea; how about I buy everyone at your table a round,
provided you answer me one simple question.”

  Oblong was already grinning and several of his friends were nudging each other about the round of ale coming from a brassy. “We’d be honored, sir! What’s the question?”

  “What’s ale?”

  Oblong grinned and went for the biggest show of bravery he could. “This brassy is stupid! Never heard of ale? I think we need to give him a bit of an enlisted man education.”

  A while later Gizzada returned to the back room and stared at the scene before him.

  Mahrree and the children, occasionally chortling, remained at the table where they were afforded an excellent view of Perrin sitting near the fire pit surrounded by enlisted men singing.

  Well, Perrin wasn’t singing, Mahrree chuckled to herself. That wasn’t his style. But he was swaying with the men on either side of him, because their momentum didn’t offer him any other alternative. In his hand was a large mug, the contents of which he kept evaluating with each experimental sip. Jaytsy and Peto laughed every time he scowled at the drink.

  Gizzada hurried over to them. “What in the world’s going on here?”

  Peto sniffed. “The enlisted men are teaching the brassy a thing or two.”

  “How’d they find out he’s a brass—I mean, how’d they find out he’s an officer?”

  “Don’t worry, Zadda,” Mahrree patted his arm. “It just kind of happened. No harm done.”

  “We’ll see about that,” said Gizzada with some concern. “What’s he drinking?”

  “Your latest creation,” Mahrree said. “Ale?”

  Gizzada grimaced. He handed a sheet of parchment to Mahrree and said, “That’s for your mother. I’ll be right back.” As the large man tried to wriggle his way through the press of enlisted men to reach the lone brassy on the other side of the fire pit, Mahrree perused the page in her hands.

  “That’s the menu?” Jaytsy said, sufficiently astonished.

  “Look at those prices. Is that really a quarter slip of gold? That’s ten full slips of silver!” Peto whispered in awe. “For ‘Ess Kar Goe in Gar-Leek Gizzada.’ What is that?”

  “I have no idea,” Mahrree said. “But won’t your Grandmother Peto love to figure that out?”

  Over at the fire pit, Gizzada was pulling Perrin out of the crush of men who protested that Sarge was taking away their new buddy.

  “Up, up—this brassy’s got a reputation to maintain, boys. And several of you are driving home colonels in about an hour,” Gizzada reminded them. “How many rounds have you had?” He glared at Margo who shrugged lazily.

  “Maybe two. Shin was buying,” and she held up the full gold slip which Mahrree knew could have paid for everyone’s meal that night in the back restaurant. “Said I could keep what’s left.”

  “No more!” Gizzada said firmly to the woman, who merely went back to spitting in a mug and wiping it clean.

  Mahrree bit her lip as her husband walked back, a little wobbly.

  He stared into his mug. “Zadda, I think something’s wrong with this. It just doesn’t . . . taste like barley.” Perrin sat at the table and plopped the mug in front of Peto, who sniffed it. “As if you were trying to make bread, messed up the amount of ingredients, forgot about it for a while—”

  Gizzada shrugged. “Well, yes, not too far off there, actually. Gets a bit busy when we’re experimenting.”

  “—until it developed this smell and still you decided to swallow it down?”

  Gizzada bobbed his head back and forth. “You’d be amazed by what I’ve decided to swallow down. It’s how I know what’s edible and . . . what needs a bit more tweaking.”

  “And you think this doesn’t need more tweaking?”

  “The enlisted men seem to enjoy it,” Gizzada chuckled at Perrin’s furrowed eyebrows.

  Peto peered into the mug and scowled. “Looks and smells more like something you should leak out rather than drink in.” He gestured to his father’s drooling mouth, which he was wiping awkwardly with his arm.

  “It’s a rather acquired taste,” Gizzada admitted, sliding the mug out of Peto’s reach.

  “Zadda, what exactly is ale?” Mahrree asked.

  He looked into the mug. “How much did he have?”

  “That was his only one.”

  Gizzada’s shoulders relaxed. “Only half gone. Good. Ale’s bit like mead—”

  “Mead!” Perrin exclaimed. “I don’t drink mead!”

  “—but stronger. I know, sir; you don’t drink. That’s why I’ve rescued you. And also why such a small amount has had a rather pronounced effect on you,” Gizzada noted, as if evaluating a questionable dish and second-guessing the addition of the pig’s snout.

  “Oh, dear,” Mahrree stifled a giggle. “For how long will it affect him?”

  “He’ll be fine by morning. Bit of a headache, perhaps, but . . . I’m so sorry. I had no idea things would . . .” He gestured to the fire pit where Oblong was now singing a weepy solo comparing his long-lost girlfriend to a variety of produce items. “Maybe I let this batch brew just a tad too long. Oblong!” he shouted. “Women and children!”

  Peto turned to his sister. “All right—I give up. What do turnips have to do with women?”

  She shrugged back. “Still trying to figure out how an ear of corn is like his love.”

  “So!” Mahrree said loudly over the crooning of Oblong, and held up the menu. “For my mother?”

  Gizzada beamed, while Perrin placed his forehead carefully on the table and moaned quietly about too much cheese.

  “She is well, right?” Gizzada asked as he sat next to Mahrree.

  “Fine, fine—not even much damage to her home.”

  Gizzada nodded in relief. “Always the lovely lady. Well, she and I had many discussions about food at the Inn, and one day we speculated that if you made just the right kind of sauce, and came up with an elaborate enough name, you could convince people eat just about anything.”

  “Like gar-leek ess-kar-go?” Jaytsy asked.

  “Miss Jaytsy, at this moment I have two very fine colonel brassies dining on that right now, as well as three Administrators, and it’s nothing more than a garlic and leek sauce covering . . . snails!”

  The Shins burst out laughing, except for Perrin who patted the back of his own head comfortingly as he drooled on the table.

  “Tell Mrs. Peto we were right,” Gizzada grinned. “I want her to have the evidence. This here—” he pointed out another item written in a flowing handwriting, “nothing more than goose livers. And this—fried frogs and onions. Right here—squirrels. And this item—simple river crawdads.”

  “Those ugly things? Like big water roaches?” Jaytsy exclaimed. “People eat them?”

  “The elite of Idumea,” Gizzada clarified, “who don’t know these litter the rivers and can be scooped up by ten-year-olds and brought to me by the bucketful for a generous two full slips of silver, then boiled and sauced and plated in ten minutes—the elite think they’re enjoying a delicacy no one else in the world can afford. So they happily pay five times more for one ‘lobster bisk’ than I pay for a whole bucket of them.”

  “So that’s how you do all of this,” Perrin mumbled into the table. “Feed all of these people giant sandwiches that—ugh—fill an entire family for just half a slip of silver, because the brassies up front pay a full weeks’ wages for—urrrp, excuse me—for snails you likely picked out of your own garden and what in the world have you put in this ale?!”

  His family chuckled as Gizzada nodded. “He’s coming out of it already. The bigger the man, the quicker he revives. By the time you leave, no one will be the wiser that he was gulping—”

  “Sipping,” Mahrree reminded.

  Gizzada nodded. “—sipping an enlisted man’s drink. But yes, that’s a bit of what I do. I see myself as bringing some balance to the world. The world may not be fair, but my little corner of it is. Everyone at my restaurant eats well, according to what they think ‘well’ means.”

/>   Perrin pulled his head up from off the table and wiped his chin. “Zadda,” he said as he propped his head on his hand, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t remember you being so . . . insightful. How did you get so clever?”

  “By sitting here, listening to the people—the real people of Pools and Idumea, not those snobby folks with servants . . . uh, forgive me, but—”

  “Like my grandparents,” Jaytsy said matter-of-factly. “Don’t worry—we know what you mean,” she spoke for her family.

  Gizzada smiled appreciatively and patted her hand. “I come back here a few times each day and just listen. You can learn a lot about people and how they see the world, especially when you remember you don’t know more than they do.”

  Perrin gave him half a smile. “Good advice.”

  “I always thought so. I learned that from you, sir, back in Edge,” the former staff sergeant said respectfully. “You always listened to me, to all of us, no matter our rank or how long we’d served. May not have agreed with us, but you listened.”

  Perrin looked down at the table, a bit embarrassed. “And had you warned me about ale, I would have listened too,” he grumbled. “I appreciate that you do all this, Zadda,” he gestured hazily to the room. “Even if you don’t have to.”

  “Again, something I learned from you. There are things we may not want to do, but must do. That’s what you told me, remember?”

  Perrin rubbed his eyes. “Zadda, right now I’m struggling to remember my age,” he sighed. “What are you talking about?”

  “The day you handed me a stack of silver slips and told me to find you white clothing so you could sneak around in a snowy forest looking for twelve Guarders that turned out to be fourteen,” Gizzada said quietly.

  Perrin nodded slowly and massaged his forehead.

  “And I said to you, ‘Are you sure this is the best idea? I can’t imagine why you want to do this.’ And then you said, ‘I’m not doing it because I want to, but because it needs to be done. Someone has to do it. Might as well be me.’”

  “I wished I remembered that conversation,” Perrin mumbled.

  “You don’t have to. I remembered it for both of us,” Gizzada told him. “It took a few years to sink into my fat brain, but I’ve realized that I don’t need a commander or an administrator to tell me what I should do. I can choose to do things on my own. I used to be a ten-year-old trying to find a way to help my mother pay her taxes. Wasn’t her fault her husband died, or that my grandparents couldn’t help us. She did the best she could, but the king didn’t think it was enough. I wished then I had some man giving me full slips of silver for playing with crawdads in the river for an hour. And now, I can, and I do.”

  Perrin held up an unsteady finger to make a point, but was instead distracted by its wobbling around.

  “Remarkable,” Gizzada whispered to Mahrree. “He holds his ale worse than a toddler.”

  “You’ve given ale to a toddler?!”

  “No! Well, not intentionally. Little boy’s mother was in here selling baskets, you know, and the child discovered a neglected mug—”

  “Hush,” Peto shushed them in mock soberness, “it’s trying to speak.”

  “The point,” Perrin stared at his pointing finger. He gave it a worthy snap and gave up. “The point is . . . Gizzada, you’ve done good things here. And now, I’m going to take a little nap.”

  ---

  An hour later the Shin family readied to head back to Idumea. As a more stable and alert Perrin buttoned up his jacket, several of the enlisted men stood to salute him. The colonel just rolled his eyes at them.

  When the Shins’ driver came in, he feigned shock passably well that such a place existed—even though the Large Gizzada he’d ordered earlier was waiting for him. A waiter came from the kitchen with the word that the colonels up front were also finishing and would be ready to leave in ten minutes.

  Gizzada embraced the Shins goodbye and showed them the best way to sneak through the alley and to the livery stables without being noticed by anyone of importance.

  “That man is the silverest brassy I ever met,” Oblong declared as the door shut behind the Shin family.

  “Hear, hear!” many soldiers called in agreement.

  Oblong nudged Gizzada. “Sarge, he’d be a great High General, wouldn’t he?”

  Gizzada smiled. “Not only would he be, he will be. It’s not something he wants to do, but it’s something he realizes he should do. Don’t worry about Snyd or Thorne in the mansion,” Gizzada said to the closed door. “In about two years, I’ll be delivering a few Large Gizzadas to the mansion at least once a week, compliments of the owner. World’s going to be a better place, men . . .”

  ---

  “Now that was an experience,” Mahrree chuckled as the coach lurched forward.

  Perrin dropped his cap on the seat next to him, grabbed his head and moaned. His children giggled.

  “I thought you were feeling better,” Mahrree said as she massaged his neck.

  “No, no, no . . . that stuff’s worse than mead. I drank mead a couple of times back in Command School, and the same thing always happened—sicker than an expecting woman.”

  Mahrree frantically wrenched open the window on his side of the coach, while his children burst out laughing.

  “Too loud,” he murmured pitifully. “Please don’t.”

  “Yes, please don’t,” Mahrree said to him. “And if you have to, aim it out the window.”

  “Don’t anybody tell my parents what happened when we get back,” he mumbled. “They’re probably asleep already, but I don’t want them knowing.”

  Jaytsy turned to her brother. “Did you have any idea we had such a rebellious father? He’s been drinking, and now he wants us to sneak him in past his parents?”

  Mahrree snorted as their children laughed. “I’m sorry, Perrin, but really—it’s rather funny.”

  “Another reason why I hate Idumea,” he grumped as he flopped on the bench. His family’s continued laughter didn’t help.

  After a few minutes Jaytsy said slowly, “Father?”

  “Hmmf?” he mumbled from his prone position where Mahrree was now massaging his head.

  “Are Colonel Snyd and Colonel Thorne rich?”

  Peto sat up a bit at that.

  “Hm. Suppose so, if they can pay that much to eat things I crunch under my boots.”

  Peto and Jaytsy exchanged glances in the dark coach, and Mahrree knew what the next question would be.

  “So, is Colonel Shin now rich, too?”

  “Of course we are!” Mahrree declared. “We’ve been rich for many years, with a comfortable home, good friends and family, and each other.”

  “Isn’t that cute, Peto,” Jaytsy said in the same tone her father had used earlier, “how she still thinks we’re only five and four years old?”

  “What does it matter how much he earns?” Mahrree said. “We have all we need.”

  Perrin waved aimlessly. “What your mother said.”

  “So we are rich,” Peto nodded in approval. “Now we’ll have to take the coach everywhere in Edge.”

  “No . . . no . . . no,” Perrin droned slowly and forced himself into a semi-sitting position. “Pay is based on years of service, ranking, and size of fort. The garrison and the fort at Pools are both much larger than Edge, which is the second smallest fort.”

  “So Jayts,” Peto explained, “Father’s the second least rich colonel in the world.”

  “Ah, but Moorland doesn’t have a colonel,” Jaytsy reminded him. “So he is the least rich colonel in the world.”

  “Ah, well done Colonel Shin,” Peto said smugly, and he and his sister chuckled.

  But Perrin wasn’t amused. “And since Moorland is dying as a village, there’s not even a major there either anymore,” he reminded them sternly.

  His children quieted and looked down.

  Mahrree wasn’t unsympathetic. It was easy to forget that others were losing their ho
mes while they were living in a mansion. She’d been guilty of forgetting about home herself.

  To try to swing the conversation around again, she said, “Oh, your father’s not getting that much of a pay increase.”

  “Uhh . . .” Perrin said slowly.

  “Need the window?”

  “No . . . it’s that . . . the pay increase.”

  Mahrree frowned at him. “We already discussed it. And,” she added more quietly, “what you’ll be doing with it.”

  “Yes, but it’s a little larger than you may think, and . . . it also comes with a bonus.”

  “How much?”

  Perrin shifted uncomfortably. “Enough to buy a new house. Apparently brass buttons need bigger houses.”

  “As if what you live in reflects who you really are?” Mahrree scoffed.

  “I’m not in the mood to argue with you, or agree with you, wife,” Perrin moaned. He took up her hand and put it on his temple again so she’d massage it.

  “Just agree with me, then.” Mahrree kissed his cheek.

  “Usually do.” He closed his eyes.

  Jaytsy and Peto exchanged anxious looks. “Do we have to?” Jaytsy said. “Move, I mean? I know our house is rather small but it’s the only home I’ve ever known.”

  “I don’t want to move either,” Peto announced.

  Mahrree smiled at them. “Nor do we. Right?”

  Perrin grunted. “No one in Edge expects us to move. And the gold’s already going another direction,” he added cryptically.

  “What’s that mean?” Peto wondered.

  “It means, your Father and I already discussed that it could go to someone who could use it more than us,” Mahrree explained. “Although I wasn’t aware of that bonus.”

  “Been working out how to deal with it,” he mumbled. “Think I have it figured out.”

  “Where’s it going?” Jaytsy asked.

  “Where all my future pay is going: to people who need it more. It’s not as if my duties are changing, or my hours increasing, but your mother and I know of someone who knows of someone—” He paused to work out if that was the correct thing to say, “So we’re going to just slip it over there.”

  To Mahrree’s pleasure, Jaytsy grinned. “I like that! Someone’s going to get a welcome surprise, and we don’t have to move.”

  “Like that man in the rubbish pile at the garrison?” Peto said.

  Perrin opened his eyes. “What, son?”

  “The gold—is it going to that man we saw trying to get a blanket out of the rubbish pile?” A quality in the tone of Peto’s voice suggested he already knew the answer was no.

  “I have looked for him,” Perrin said quietly. “But I haven’t seen him again. I’ll keep trying, though, each time I have to go to the garrison. There are a few things I’d like to give him, but no—the pay increase isn’t going to him, but it’s a nice idea.”

  Peto nodded slowly. “I’ll just imagine that someone did that for him already. That’s why you can’t find him again.”

  Mahrree blinked back tears. The boy could be so obnoxious, then abruptly so compassionate. It was if it was his secret, and he accidentally revealed his softer nature.

  “Someone will take care of him, I’m sure,” Jaytsy said with hollow confidence, and she patted her brother comfortingly on the leg.

  Mahrree sniffled. It was times like this she thought she could envision her children as adults, and the kind of people they could become astonished her—

  “Listen Jaytsy—Mother’s sniffling. It sounds like she’s about to sing about her long-lost love,” said Peto earnestly.

  And just like that, they were snickering teenagers again.

  “Let’s talk about something different, such as . . .” Mahrree faltered, because there was only one other thing that overwhelmed her mind lately, and since she couldn’t come up with anything else, she finally said, “what your grandparents expect of us in a few days at The Dinner.”

  Perrin lunged for the window and lost half a Large Gizzada on the road to Idumea.

  It was about ten minutes after that—after the coachman assured Colonel Shin that they could get the outside of the coach all cleaned again, no problem, sir—that Jaytsy said, “Why does the garrison have so many men? It’s not like Idumea ever gets attacked.”

  “And they’ll claim that’s why,” Perrin said, lying back down again and resting his head on Mahrree’s lap. At least he was finally sounding more alert, she thought. “So many soldiers keep the place safe.”

  “But it’s the villages on the edges of the world that need protection, isn’t it?” Jaytsy insisted.

  “And that, my daughter,” Perrin said, “is why you’d never make a good officer or Administrator. You’re thinking logically, not politically. The only thing logic and politics share are a few letters. Idumea’s so messed up,” he mumbled as he repositioned Mahrree’s hand to rub his forehead. “A city where a fifteen-year-old girl is more reasonable than dozens of adult men—”

  “Hey, she’s right,” Peto said, startled. And not to be outdone by his sister who smiled smugly, he added, “It’s all of the northern villages that get hit the most, then the ones in the west.”

  “Doesn’t Trades have a sizable fort?” Mahrree asked. “In the southwest.”

  Perrin grunted. “Largest outside of the garrison. Fifteen hundred men,” he said to the gasps of his family. “And you know why? The gold and silver mine. Five hundred soldiers are on duty, round the clock, guarding the roads in and out, stationed around the perimeter, and inspecting every worker. The mine is where the wealth is, so that’s where the soldiers are. Any time there’s even a hint of a presence in the forest twenty miles away, the garrison sends down another one or two thousand men just to keep the mine protected.”

  “How often have they been raided?” Mahrree asked.

  “Since the beginning when Guarders made their presence known again? I think only two or three times, and only once was successful, back when Jaytsy was still a baby.”

  “Wait a minute!” Jaytsy exclaimed loudly, and Perrin flinched and rubbed his temples until Mahrree’s fingers could get over there for him. “We’ve been hit dozens of times! By thieves! And Moorland—didn’t you say they lost a small herd of cows not long ago? We should have the majority of the soldiers in the north!”

  Perrin sighed. “Moorland got hit several times a year,” he intoned sadly. “Their major requested more soldiers, my father tried to convince the Command Board they were needed, and always the three Administrators shot it down. Cush is also on that Board, but he quit trying to even bring it up.”

  “But why?” Now Peto was angry.

  “Politics, Peto. Moorland is small, far away, and no one important has ever come from there. That’s why no one in Idumea cares it’s been wiped out by the land tremor. They’re not rich, so their taxes were minimal. They’re strange people who actually like the mountains, are happy with simply raising cattle and crops, and don’t even have an arena. They don’t benefit the Administrators at all, so they see no reason to send protection or assistance.”

  “But that’s . . .” Jaytsy spluttered.

  Mahrree nodded sadly. “Politics. The Administrators care only about two kinds of people: those who bring them wealth and power, and those who threaten to take it away. Moorland does neither. Same with Edge.”

  “Your mother’s right,” Perrin told his children. “Trades is the source of all wealth. Moorland provides nothing but some wheat and corn—which is far more valuable in an emergency than shiny metals, anyway. The Administrator of Taxation stores the grain until the next harvest, at which point they simply throw it away to make room for the new.”

  “What?” Peto exclaimed. “They could give that away instead of throwing it away! Like to those homeless people, by the river.”

  “There’s a lot Idumea could do better, son,” Perrin grumbled.

  “I hate Idumea,” Jaytsy murmured.

  Perrin grinned, and Mahrree p
atted his cheek.

  “Why didn’t Moorland complain?” Peto wondered. “Look at everything here, and compare it what they have there, and—”

  “Ah, but that’s the thing, Peto,” Perrin pointed out, struggling to sit up again. “How many people do you know—besides soldiers—that ever travel to another village?”

  His children pondered that for a moment.

  “Mr. Hegek came from somewhere else,” Jaytsy offered. “And sometimes students leave to go to a university. But after that?”

  “And why don’t people travel?” Perrin pressed.

  “Because they think it’s too hard, too far,” said Peto in disappointment. “Something bad will happen, and then when you get to someplace else, like Coast, everything is different than what you know—”

  “It’s a terrifying hassle,” Jaytsy summed up.

  “Exactly,” Perrin told them. “So no one travels, anywhere. And if they do, it’s because of an emergency, or they think they’re dying and should see something first. The travel is usually tied to something unpleasant, so the whole trip becomes unpleasant.”

  “Then people complain,” Mahrree said, “and talk about how strange and hard it all was, and so naturally no one ever wants to go or do anything. It’s easier to stay at home. And, you have to admit—our trip down here was anything but fun and relaxing.”

  Everyone grunted in agreement to that.

  “But I’d still do it over again,” Peto said in a small voice.

  “Me too,” Jaytsy chimed in. “It was hard, but I’m kind of proud of us. Actually,” she wrinkled her nose in thought, “it wasn’t all that bad. You can get used to it, like Grandmother and Grandfather have. Why, look at us now, going to Pools just for dinner and driving all the way back again! It’s almost as far as to Mountseen, but people rarely make that drive unless they have to.”

  Peto sat up taller. “So people don’t travel because they’re convinced it’s just too hard. That’s dumb!”

  Perrin chuckled sadly. “No, that’s just human nature. We believe the wrong things, and can’t think of alternatives. Like those in Moorland. I doubt any of them ever came to Idumea. In their minds, the city is the same as their little village, just . . . spread out more. Even their major had lingering fears from his time in Command School, so he likely never talked to anyone about the city. People from Moorland never imagine anything as grand as you’ve seen, so they didn’t think they could demand anything more of it. If they knew just how much Idumea possessed, I’m sure they’d insist on more soldiers and better defenses. As it is, they just grew used to their condition and saw no sense in fighting the inevitable.”

  “Grew used to their condition,” Mahrree murmured. “No sense in fighting . . .”

  That’s exactly what happened with the servants of the kings. That’s why they sat there for so long behind the rock wall, never insisting on anything better, never imagining anything more . . .

  Until High General Pere Shin put an end to the injustice by heaving himself over—

  “Perrin,” she said quietly, “we still have a ways before we get to the mansion . . . I think now would be a good time to tell the children about a certain group of servants, and a particular ancestor of theirs who did something for them.”

  Perrin smiled in the dark. “I think you’re right.”

  ---

  “Are you better now?” Mahrree asked Perrin as he crawled into bed with her. He’d spent the last half hour in the washing room next door, and she’d been wincing for him the entire time.

  “Yes, finally. I think.”

  “Still, I’m just going to stay over on this side for the night, if you don’t mind.”

  “See why I didn’t bring you mead that first night I came over to talk to you? I have a feeling you wouldn’t have agreed to marry me if I were throwing up in your washing room.”

  “Yet another thing I never knew about you—mead makes you sick. And yet another reason why you hate Idumea—it’s giving away all of your secrets.”

  He just groaned.

  She chuckled. “So, you said you had a plan for that house bonus?”

  “Going to give some of it to Brillen. By the way, when I was over at the garrison earlier, I was going through some paperwork and realized that way back when Brillen was first assigned to Edge, they figured his pay rate wrong. For the past sixteen years, he’s been underpaid. Of course, when I pointed that out, they were most embarrassed, and knew they should immediately rectify the situation. I told them I could carry that large amount of pay back with me, and bring their apologies personally as well.”

  “What a perfect coincidence!” Mahrree exclaimed. “You can add your pay to what they’re sending, plus your bonus—”

  Her husband’s chuckling stopped her.

  “What?”

  “I was hoping that all sounded believable. I guess I practiced it well enough.”

  “Wait—you just made that all up?”

  “Even with my ale-ing mind. I’ll even tell him he shouldn’t mention it to them, because some of the higher-ups don’t know about the error, and the lower-downs would get even in more trouble. Best just accept the situation and also realize they’ll be sending a little extra each moon into his pay to make up for the inconvenience.”

  Mahrree nodded in the dark. “Clever man.” After another pause she said, “They took it so well tonight, didn’t they?”

  Perrin didn’t even have to ask what she was talking about. “They did,” his voice swelled with pride. “I spotted both of them in the study, staring at the portrait of their great-grandfather. I always thought he was painted a bit sterner than he really was, but in the candlelight he looks gentler, more like the man I knew. I think they saw that part of him tonight. He was a great High General.”

  “Just like your father,” Mahrree whispered.

  “Yes,” Perrin’s voice sounded like he was smiling. “He’s thwarted at every turn, but at least he keeps trying to do the right thing.”

  “Just like you. You, too, would make a great High General.”

  “Mahrree, I thought you wanted me to feel better.”

  Chapter 15 ~ “You get yourself ready. I will deal with my son.”