The Mansions of Idumea (Book 3 Forest at the Edge series) (2 page)

After a moment’s hesitation Brisack asked,
“And what about Perrin’s wife?”

Mal heard Brisack’s voice tremor when he
mentioned Mahrree Shin. After all these years, the good doctor
still had a faraway look in his eyes when he thought about the only
woman in the world to question his studies and demand to know why
children no longer learned how to debate.

Debate wasn’t needed; the sky was always
blue, and the world had been quite accommodating to that and every
other fact the Administrators had inflicted on it over the past
eighteen years. Mal and Brisack even shut down their experiments
for several years when it became apparent that the world was a
timid mutt. Dogs were loyal, obedient, and willingly stupid.

Except for a few rogue dogs here and there.
Well, actually one was a
bi
—

But even the Shins had been quiet for a
surprisingly long time, and so the world had grown dull.

Yes, Nicko Mal was healthier for it, the
stresses of directing the world
and
its enemy no longer
taxing his heart—

But he had also grown bored.

Brisack would argue that boredom was an
infantile response, but Nicko’s elevated mind needed his
entertainment to be academic and cerebral. He wasn’t interested in
asinine contests or predictable plays. He craved
real
drama,
with genuine challenges and the possibility of suffering and death.
That’s where you find honest edification.

And that’s why he called his old friend and
research companion to join him again in his darkened library that,
many years ago under the four King Queruls and King Oren, housed a
throne. The vast room was accustomed to displays of power, and Mal
could feel it yearning for the old days again. And the best way to
demonstrate power was to attack those who thought they had some.
Even if—

No;
especially if
they live in an
unimportant village called Edge of the World.

Mal stared at Brisack for a moment longer
than it took for the doctor to become embarrassed about mentioning
Mrs. Shin before he answered his question. “I suppose she’ll want
to come along, considering what I’m about to put him through. If
she truly has feelings for him, she won’t let him suffer alone,
now, would she?”

Brisack squirmed a bit at that. “What does he
look like, anyway?”

“Rather hard to forget Perrin Shin, I assure
you. It’s been many years, but—well, picture the High General, but
taller, broader, stronger, and deeper in voice. Like the offspring
of thunder and a bear,” Mal said with a mixture of disdain and
reluctant admiration for his preferred test subject.

No matter what Mal sent after him—three
Guarder raids, two lieutenants intent on killing his parents, and
specially trained “soldiers” to keep an eye and a blade on him—the
man sidestepped and survived it all.

But his luck couldn’t hold. Mal would make
sure of that. There was still one soldier trained by and loyal to
the Guarders under Shin’s command: the Quiet Man.

Communications had broken down years ago, but
Mal was sure his soldier, serving for nearly fourteen years now,
was still there, loyal, obedient, and conveniently placed to earn
Shin’s trust. And soon, the Quiet Man would be required to make a
little noise.

“Now,” Mal worked his shoulders deeper into
his cushioned chair, “let’s begin devising a variety of scenarios
by which our
dear
Lieutenant Colonel—and even his wife—may
be forced down here to Idumea for a little visit.”

---

Lieutenant Colonel Perrin Shin looked at the
report in front of him dated the 29
^th
Day of Planting,
335, and groaned.

“Well?” Major Karna asked with a knowing
smile.

“Chief Curglaff is an idiot. Still.” Shin
cleared his throat and read in the nasally tone of the chief of
enforcement. “‘The continued thieving problems in Edge are not a
result of teenage mischief but may indicate a Guarder presence,
therefore all thefts and concerns should continue to be under the
jurisdiction of the fort.’”

In disgust he tossed the document on his
large oak desk where it ruffled a few careful stacks of forms and
reports. Sometime later Perrin would rearrange the disorganization
he just caused, but not until he was more in control of his
anger.

“We established the Guarder-theft connection
years ago,” Perrin grumbled. “It’s just another excuse as to why
his men aren’t going to do anything this season but pretend to
direct traffic and drag home some drunks. Didn’t he promise he was
going to retire this year?”

Karna, second in command of the fort, was
smaller in stature than the lieutenant colonel. He was a bundle of
muscle and fiercely accurate with a bow and arrow, but more
frequently with the quill and a supply form. Against his light
dirt-brown skin, his grin shone brightly, if not a bit
mischievously. “Retires at the end of Weeding Season. Can you deal
with him for that much longer?”

Perrin scoffed. “I’ve been dealing with that
hard-nosed goat for fifteen years now! Where’s my medal for that?”
He patted his dark blue uniform filled with patches declaring him
to be the commander of the fort, the most frequently decorated
Officer of the Year, and the most irritated lieutenant commander in
the Army of Idumea.

Karna chuckled, and there was a knock at the
command office door.

“Come in!” Perrin called.

The door opened and a tall, brawny master
sergeant with light brown hair, gravel-pale skin, and sky-blue eyes
leaned in. Instead of stepping into the private office, he cringed.
“Oh, sir, I can see this is a bad time.”

“I still want to see you, Zenos,” Perrin
waved him in.

Zenos closed the door behind him. “That look
on your face says, ‘Curglaff’s an idiot and when’s he
retiring?’”

“Very good, Zenos,” Karna said, “but even I
could have read that expression.”

The master sergeant sat casually on a chair
next to the major without waiting for an invitation. Had there been
lower ranked enlisted men around, he may have stood at attention.
But fourteen years of service at the same fort allows one a certain
license.

“So Curglaff’s still not wanting to direct
the patrols in the village?” Zenos said.

“Of course not!” the commander spat. “All the
thieving this season is Guarder related, after all.”

“Where’s his evidence?” Karna asked.

“Since when has he ever needed evidence?”

Zenos sighed. “I’ve been through this with
him before. The fourth time we arrested Poe Hili for thieving, he
admitted he had buyers for the goods, but he’d never met any of
them. And no one was more prolific than Poe.”

“Shem,” Karna turned to Zenos, also employing
such a level of relaxed familiarity that it would have sent the
Command Board in Idumea into fits of sputtering, “where’s Poe
now?”

“Not around here, that’s all I know,” Shem
sighed.

“Been what, two years since he was released
from his last incarceration?” Perrin said. “The couple of times
I’ve had the unpleasant accident of running into his parents, they
didn’t mention him. I don’t think they even know what happened to
their sweet-yet-misunderstood lamb.”

“Lamb in wolf’s clothing,” Karna breathed.
“All of those boys. Your son excepted, of course, sir.”

“Thanks, Brillen.” Perrin addressed his
second in command by his first name, because, after all, Brillen
was his second mind, as well as his third and fourth hands, and you
had to call someone that close to you by his first name. The math
required it.

And also because, even after all these years,
Brillen Karna still winced slightly whenever his commander called
him by his first name and Perrin simply loved to make the man
squirm.

“Peto’s so small and wiry he’d be an
excellent thief,” Perrin acknowledged. “Just doesn’t have any
muscle on him to carry anything.”

“But if he did,” Shem said, “he’d be stuck in
your wife’s class with all the other ‘special cases’ she gets to
teach.”

“And that’s probably the main reason he’s
remained such a good boy—he doesn’t want his mother as his
teacher.”

The three men chuckled, a bit sadly.

“At least Mahrree’s in a position to see if
any of those boys are looking at Jaytsy,” Brillen said. He’d given
up long ago referring to her as Mrs. Shin. Her husband ignored him
whenever he did.

“Why should they be looking at Jaytsy?” Shem
burst out. “She’s only fourteen!”

Brillen recoiled at the master sergeant’s
emotion and held up his hands. “Sorry, sorry . . . it’s just that
she doesn’t
look
fourteen. I keep forgetting her age.”

The lieutenant colonel nodded. “So do I,
Brillen. And she’s
almost
fifteen. Doesn’t help that she’s
taller than her mother. And . . . and more, uh—” His hands moved in
an odd way as if trying to demonstrate the shape of a body that
alarmed him. He was still struggling to articulate—or
gesticulate—what happened to her when she turned twelve. He dropped
his hands in disillusionment.

His men cringed in understanding.

“Yes . . . all that.” Perrin sighed.

“Better not be looking at her,” protective
Uncle Shem mumbled, his shoulder twitching.

Perrin suppressed a smile and picked up the
report from Chief Curglaff again. “In a way, Brillen and Shem, I
almost miss outsmarting the Guarders. Chasing down and chaining up
Edge’s sons is far less rewarding and far more disturbing. Home
grown criminals. I don’t like it, and I never want to get used to
it.”

“Agreed,” Brillen whispered while Shem
nodded.

“So,” Perrin said breaking the quiet moment,
“have the new duty rosters ready, Zenos?”

“Right there, on the corner of your desk. I
put them there before Curglaff visited.”

Perrin picked up the pages he hadn’t noticed
before and smiled faintly. “You already put the soldiers on patrols
again in the village, hadn’t you?”

“It’s Planting Season again, after all.
Weather’s warming up, so our lizard-like thieves will be coming out
of their slumber. We’ve got 250 soldiers itching to get out and do
something.”

“Very good, Shem.” Perrin handed back the
duty roster. “Just continue like that for the next two and a half
seasons, until it gets cold again and the boys go back into
hiding.”

“Yes, sir,” Zenos smiled and stood up.
Leaving the private office of the commander always reminded the men
to adopt a more formal bearing. “Anything else, sir?”

“No, thank you, Master Sergeant,” Shin said,
getting up too. “I need to make my daily sweep of the village.
Can’t put it off any longer. Some of those new shopkeepers with the
Idumean goods wanted to have a word with me about ‘security’
issues.” He rolled his eyes.

“Curglaff referred them to you?” Karna
guessed.

Perrin grumbled back. “Few believe in hiring
personal guards up here, I suppose. You have the fort, Major.” He
put on his cap. “Headed to the stables, Zenos? I’ll accompany
you.”

Out in the forward command office, the
lieutenant colonel nodded at the older, gnarled sergeant major
sitting at the large planning desk, painstakingly updating a
soldier’s personnel file.

“Grandpy, I’m heading out for the afternoon.
Karna’s on duty.”

Grandpy Neeks saluted and grinned his
weather-beaten smile. At fifty-three, only ten years older than
Perrin, his dried gray skin and white hair made him look like the
last survivor of the Great War 135 years ago. “Lemme guess,” he
drawled slowly, “them lovely shops in the center are getting their
fine wools coming in. Worried about them being pinched.”

Perrin chuckled. “It’s Planting Season,
Grandpy. The wools are going out, the silks and linens are coming
in. More valuable, more anxiety causing.”

“A shame,” Neeks slowly shook his head, “that
a man like you is reduced to having to know what kinds of cloth are
in fashion.”

Perrin shrugged. “I know about the fashions
only because I have a teenage daughter that’s been growing non-stop
for the past two years.”

Neeks continued to shake his head in sympathy
as the men trotted down the stairs.

“That’s probably why he never married,” Shem
said quietly as they walked through the reception area, returning
the salutes of the soldiers. “Doesn’t want a wife pestering him
about fashion. A shame,” Shem drawled like the sergeant major.

“So is that why you’re still not married,
Shem? A strapping not-so-young man of now thirty-four? Men will
start calling you Grandpy soon, too.”

Shem elbowed his commander. “I look nothing
like a Grandpy! And neither do you, I might add.”

“I thank you for that,” Perrin nodded
formally. Larger and broader than any man in the fort—or the entire
village of Edge for that matter—Perrin Shin had also made sure over
the years that he remained the strongest, fastest, and most
physically intimidating officer in the northern half of the
world.

What that really meant was still being able
to beat Zenos in the annual Strongest Soldier Race which, he was
hated to admit, was becoming harder every year. In fact, last year
he lost to Shem by a few dozen paces, but it might as well have
been a mile for the amount of celebration that occurred. The
enlisted man finally beat the officer, after ten straight losses.
Perrin had to give him his little moment of glory, and even smiled
obligingly at the enthusiasm of the enlisted men as they cheered
their new hero.

The loss had made Perrin feel . . . more
mature. Even though he still thought of himself as a man only half
his age, not even Shem was that young anymore.

“And by the way, you now finally look like
twenty-one,” he nudged the master sergeant. “I thought I saw a
whisker on your chin the other day.”

Automatically Shem’s hand went up to his chin
to feel it.