The Chernagor Pirates (14 page)

But no soldiers held the gates and walls of the city of Avornis against him. Lanius came out through the North Gate to greet him along with Sosia; with Prince Crex and Princess Pitta, their children; with Ortalis; with Estrilda; and with Arch-Hallow Anser. “Welcome home!” Lanius said.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Grus replied, hoping his relief didn't show. He would have worried more if Lanius had used his royal title in greeting him. He knew his fellow monarch didn't think him a legitimate king. Had Lanius been plotting something, he might have tried buttering him up. This way, things were as they should be.

“Grandpa!” Crex and Pitta squealed. They ran toward Grus' horse. He dismounted—something he was always glad to do—stooped, and squeezed them. That they were glad to see him made him feel he'd done something right with his life. Unlike adults, children gave you just what they thought you deserved.

A groom came forward to take charge of the horse. It was a docile beast, but Grus was still happy to see someone else dealing with it. Sosia and Anser greeted Grus only a couple of steps behind his grandchildren. “Good to have you home,” they said, almost in chorus, and both started to laugh. So did Grus. Neither his daughter nor his bastard boy seemed to have any reason to regret his return. And Sosia's anger at his affair with Alca seemed to have faded, which was also good news.

“I wish things had gone better up in the Chernagor country,” Grus said. Lanius, hanging back, raised an eyebrow at that. Grus needed a moment to figure out why. A lot of Kings of Avornis, he supposed, would have proclaimed victories whether they'd won them or not. He saw no point to that. He knew what the truth was. So did the whole army. It would get out even if he did proclaim victory. If he did, the truth would make him look like a liar or a fool. This way, he would look like an honest man who'd lost a battle. He hoped that would serve him better.

Grus understood why Lanius hung back. His son-in-law had solid reasons not to care for him, and was a reserved—even a shy—young man. Ortalis hung back, too. Grus also understood that. His legitimate son had done plenty to displease him. He and Ortalis traded looks filled with venom.

And Estrilda also hung back. That hurt. Was his wife still steaming over Alca? He'd thought they'd patched that up. In fact, they had—but then he'd gone off to war. Maybe the patch had torn loose. Maybe she wasn't angry about Alca, but suspected a Chernagor girl had warmed his bed while he was in the north. That hadn't happened, not least because, again, he'd worried about the truth getting back to her. But, of course, she didn't know it hadn't happened.

King Grus sighed.
Half my family likes me, the other half wishes I were still off fighting the Chernagors. It could be worse. But, by Olor and Quelea, it could be better, too.

He turned to Hirundo. Whether his family liked him or not, the kingdom's business had to go on. “Send the men to the barracks,” he said. “Give them leave a brigade at a time. That way, they shouldn't tear the city to pieces.”

“Here's hoping,” Hirundo said. “If it looks like the ones who haven't gotten leave are turning sour and nasty, I may speed things up.”

Grus nodded. “Do whatever you think best. The point of the exercise is to keep things as orderly as you can. They won't be perfect. I don't expect them to be. But I don't want riots and looting, either.”

“I understand.” Hirundo called out orders to his officers.

“What of me, Your Majesty?” Prince Vsevolod asked. “You send me to barracks, too?”

“As soon as I can, I aim to send you back to Nishevatz, Your Highness.” Grus pretended not to hear the Chernagor's bitterness. “In the meantime, you'll stay in the palace as my guest.”

“And mine,” Lanius added. “I have many questions to ask you about the land of the Chernagors and about your customs.”

Grus had all he could do not to laugh out loud. By the look on Sosia's face, so did she. Lanius had pet moncats. He had pet monkeys, too. (The Chernagors, Grus remembered, had brought those beasts here to the capital.) And now, at last, Lanius had his very own pet Chernagor.

“Your Majesty, what I know, I tell you.” Vsevolod sounded flattered that Lanius should be interested. Grus had to turn away so neither the prince nor his fellow king would see him smile. If Vsevolod made a promise like that, it only proved he didn't know what he was getting into.

Prince Vsevolod looked discontented. King Lanius had never seen anyone whose face, all harsh planes and vertical lines and with that formidable prow of a nose, was better suited to looking discontented. “Questions, questions, questions!” he said, throwing his hands in the air. “Am I prisoner, you should ask so many questions?”

“You told me you would tell me what you knew,” Lanius said.

“By gods, not all at once!” Vsevolod exploded.

“Oh.” By the way Lanius sounded, the Prince of Nishevatz might have just thrown a rock at his favorite moncat. “I
am
sorry, Your Highness. I want you to be happy here.”

Vsevolod nodded heavily. Lanius let out a small sigh of relief—he'd been right about that, anyhow. The exiled prince said, “How can I, cooped up in palace all time?”

“I am,” Lanius said in honest surprise. “What would you like to do?”

“Hunt,” Vsevolod said at once. “Hunt anything. Hunt boar, goose, even rabbit. You are hunter, Your Majesty?”

“Well … no,” Lanius replied. Vsevolod's lip curled. Lanius said, “Arch-Hallow Anser is a keen hunter.” After another, longer, hesitation, he added, “Prince Ortalis also sometimes hunts.”

“Ah. Is good,” Vsevolod said, which only proved he didn't know Ortalis well. “And I know King Grus is hunting man. Maybe here is not so bad. Maybe.”

“I hope you will be happy here,” Lanius said again. “Now, can you tell me a little more about the gods your people worshiped before you learned of King Olor and Queen Quelea and the rest of the true dwellers in the heavens?”

Vsevolod's broad shoulders went up and down in a shrug. “I do not know. I do not care.” He heaved himself to his feet. “I have had too much of questions. I go look for hunt.” He lumbered away.

Lanius knew he'd angered the Prince of Nishevatz, but didn't understand why. Vsevolod had said he would answer questions. The king went off to console himself with his monkeys. If they could have answered questions, he would have asked even more than he'd put to Vsevolod. As things were, he could only watch them cavort through their chamber. A fire always burned there, keeping the room at a temperature uncomfortably warm for him. The monkeys seemed to like it fine. The Chernagor who'd given them to Lanius had warned they couldn't stand cold.

They stared at the king from the branches and poles that reached almost to the ceiling. Both male and female had white eyebrows and long white mustaches on otherwise black faces. They looked like plump little old men. Lanius eyed the female. He nodded to himself. She'd looked particularly plump these past couple of weeks. That Chernagor had said they would never breed in captivity, but maybe he was wrong.

Behind Lanius, the door opened. He turned in annoyance. But it wasn't Bubulcus or any other servant he could blister with impunity. King Grus stood there. He made a point of closing the door quickly, giving Lanius no excuse to grumble even about that. “Hello, Your Majesty,” he said. “How are your creatures here?”

“I think the female's pregnant,” Lanius answered.

Grus eyed her, then nodded. “Wouldn't be surprised if you're right. You'd have fun with the babies, wouldn't you?”

“Oh, yes, but it's not just that,” Lanius said. “If an animal will breed for you, you know you're treating it the way you should. From what the fellow who gave it to me said, the Chernagors can't get monkeys to breed. I'd like to do something they can't.”

With a judicious nod, Grus said, “Mm, yes, I can see that.” His right hand folded into a fist. “It's not what
I'd
like to do to the Chernagors right now, but I can see it.” He chuckled. “I was pretty sure you'd question Vsevolod to pieces, you know. He just tried to talk me into going hunting. I sent him off to Anser. He has more time for it than I do.”

“I
told
Vsevolod I wanted to ask him things,” Lanius said. “Didn't he believe me?”

“Nobody who's never met you believes how many questions you can ask,” Grus said. “But that isn't what I wanted to talk to you about. I've got some questions of my own.”

“Go ahead.” Lanius realized Grus wouldn't have come here to talk about monkeys. The other king did show some interest in Lanius' beasts, but not enough for that. “What do you want to know?”

Grus let out a long sigh. “What about my son?”

Lanius had known this was coming. He hadn't expected it so soon. “What about him?”

“Don't play games with me.” Grus seldom showed Lanius how dangerous he could be. The impatient snap to that handful of words, though, warned of trouble ahead if he didn't get a straight answer.

“Have you spoken with a serving girl named Cristata yet?” Lanius asked.

“Cristata? No.” Again, Grus sounded thoroughly grim. “What does she say? How bad is it this time?”

Lanius reached around to pat himself on the back of the shoulder. “I don't think those scars will go away. I don't know what other marks she has—this was what she showed me.”

“Oh,” Grus said, and then nothing more.

He was silent long enough, in fact, to make Lanius ask, “Is that all?”

“That's all I'm going to say to
you,”
King Grus answered. But then he shook his head. “No. I have a question I think you can answer. Is this Cristata the same girl I heard about when I was up in the land of the Chernagors?”

“I … don't know,” Lanius said carefully.

His father-in-law heard him speaking carefully, which he hadn't intended. Frowning, Grus asked, “What do you think?”

“I think that, since I don't know, I wouldn't be doing anyone any good by guessing.”

By the way Grus cocked his head to one side, Lanius feared his real opinion was only too evident. But the older man didn't press him on it. “Fair enough, Your Majesty. I daresay you're right. The world would be a better place if people didn't guess and gossip so much. It might be a duller place, but it would be better.” Again, he paused for so long, Lanius thought he'd finished. Again, Lanius proved wrong. Grus went on, “Never mind. One way or the other, I'll find out.”

Lanius didn't like the sound of that. He suspected he would have liked it even less if he were Ortalis.

King Grus turned to go. Over his shoulder, he said, “Have fun with your creatures. Believe me, they don't cause nearly as much trouble as people do.” Before Lanius could answer that, Grus left the room.

With no one else there, Lanius naturally turned toward the monkeys, saying, “Do you think he's right?” The monkeys didn't answer. They certainly made less trouble than a human audience, which might have given Lanius some reply he didn't want to hear. Laughing, the king went on, “I bet you wish you could make more trouble. You make plenty when you get the chance.”

Still no answer from the monkeys. Lanius took from his belt a small, slim knife.
That
got the animals' attention. They chattered excitedly and swarmed down from the branches. One of them tugged at Lanius' robe. They both held out beseeching little hands, as a human beggar might have.

He laughed. “Think I've got something, do you? Well … you're right.” He had a couple of peeled hard-boiled eggs he'd brought from the kitchens. The monkeys loved eggs, and healers assured Lanius they were good for them. Healers assured Lanius of all sorts of things he found unlikely. He believed some and ignored others. Here, because the monkeys not only enjoyed the eggs but flourished on them, he chose to believe.

He cut a slice from an egg and gave it to the male, who stuffed it into his mouth. One ancient archival record spoke of teaching monkeys table manners. Lanius had trouble believing that, too. He gave the female some egg. She ate it even faster than the male—if she hesitated, he was liable to steal it from her. Lanius had tried withholding egg from him when he did that, but he didn't understand. It just infuriated him.

Today, the monkeys seemed in the mood for affection. One of them wrapped its little hand around Lanius' thumb as he scratched it behind the ears with his other hand. The expression on the monkey's face looked very much like the one Lanius would have worn had someone done a nice job of scratching his back. He knew he shouldn't read too much into a monkey's grin. Sometimes, though, he couldn't help it.

Prince Ortalis shuffled his feet. He stared down at the floor mosaic. He might have been a schoolboy who'd gotten caught pulling the wings off flies. Back when he was younger, he
had
been a schoolboy who'd gotten caught pulling the wings off flies. “Well?” Grus growled in disgust. “What have you got to say for yourself?”

“
I
don't know,” Ortalis answered sullenly. “I don't really
want
to do things like that. Sometimes I just can't help it.”

Grus believed him. If he could have helped it, he wouldn't have done—Grus hoped he wouldn't have done—a lot of the things he undoubtedly had. But, while that explained, it didn't justify. “I warned you what would happen if you ever did anything like this again,” Grus said heavily.

Ortalis only sneered at him. Grus feared he understood that all too well. He'd warned his legitimate son about a lot of things. He'd warned him, and then failed to follow through on the warnings. No wonder Ortalis didn't believe he ever would.

“How am I supposed to get it through your thick, nasty head that I mean what I tell you?” Grus demanded. “I know one way, by the gods.”