The Thirteenth Man (29 page)

“You're already our general.

“You
must
be king.”

A
s soon as Sague arrived on Andyne-­Borregga, Charlie met him. His reaction to the phrase
The thirteenth man will rise
was far less dramatic than Aziz's. He merely blinked several times, poured a strong drink, tossed it down like a spacer in a bar, then turned to Charlie and calmly said, “You're better off financially than we thought, Your Grace. I do apologize for the deceit, though in my own defense, the deception was your father's.”

When Ethallan arrived and he spoke the phrase to her, she fainted, though she recovered quickly. And when Charlie added it all up, his fortune was considerable, though the cost of bringing his military resources fully online would seriously strain that money immediately.

“Your Grace,” Delilah said, pulling Charlie away from his thoughts. “You wanted to see me?”

They had space aplenty on Andyne-­Borregga, so Arthur had arranged a suite of apartments for Delilah more appropriate to her station. She received Charlie in a large, spacious sitting room.

“Yes,” he said. “I wanted to see how you were settling into your new apartments.”

She spun around, indicating the room about her. She wore a simple, floor length dress of a light fabric in pale colors, and her skirts flared out with the motion. “They're quite grand, though still a prison, are they not?”

He grimaced. “I would apologize, but it can't be helped. Though, that may soon change.”

“Oh, how so?” She stepped in close to him, uncomfortably close, or perhaps too comfortably close. She had to know how she tempted him, how much he was drawn to her.

The way she teased him, he had a feeling she knew
exactly
that.

He stepped back, handed her the same copy of the documents he'd shown Arthur and Roacka. “You should examine these.”

Her eyebrows lifted, she took the documents and began reading them as she paced a slow circle around him. He turned to follow her, and as she walked and read, a smile slowly formed on her face. She circled him four times before she finally stopped and faced him. She waved the papers in his face. “Are these legitimate?”

“Very much so,” he said. He proceeded to explain how Cesare had acquired them from her father and willed them to the de Lunis, and how Winston had made sure the registry of the documents was indisputable.

“Your father was a brilliant strategist,” she said. “I doubt he could have anticipated how this would play out. But still, to have prepared such a contingency.” She turned her back to him. “And who'll you choose for my husband?”

“That's your choice,” he said. “If you wish, I'll tear those documents up and they'll never see the light of day.”

She turned back to him. “How gallant of you, but also foolish. That would leave the choice up to my father, or worse, Nadama. I love my father, but he's merely a tool at this point, and he and Nadama would lead us to disaster.”

“Then you make the choice,” he said, “and I'll make it official.”

“Well, let me see,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who are the candidates? There's Dieter . . .” She raised a finger, indicating a count of one. “Besides being a pig, he's wholly inappropriate. With Martino dead, Dieter's too wealthy and powerful to be allowed that close to the throne. The Ten won't allow it.” She then proceeded to give a number of additional reasons why Dieter would not satisfy the political needs of the Realm. And as she spoke she took a step toward him, forcing him back a step. “Then there's Telka's heirs,” she continued, raising a second finger, taking another step and forcing him to back-­step again. The Duchess de Vena was also much too powerful. One by one she eliminated all of the original Nine, raising a finger and taking a step for each until she had him backed against a wall. With nine fingers held up she took a tenth step, and with his back to the wall he could feel her breasts press against his chest as she whispered in his ear. “That seems to leave only one candidate . . . Your Grace.” She leaned her head back to look into his eyes, though she didn't step away from him. And standing there pressed against him, she told him why his military weakness and destitute finances made him the only acceptable candidate. “So, you're eligible, your rank is appropriate, and you're weak militarily and financially. In short, you're the only suitable candidate who is no threat to the others.”

He marveled at her blue eyes and tried not to stammer as he said, “Winston . . . and Arthur . . . had much the same reasoning.”

Her tone turned thoughtful. “But you know, no matter how weak in resources, I don't think you'll ever be a weak king.” And with that she kissed him, a long, slow, careful kiss, and whatever parts of her body were not pressed against him at the beginning of the kiss were definitely so by its end.

She suddenly pushed away from him, turned, and walked halfway across the room, then turned back to him. “So, I'll marry you. That's settled. But I have conditions.”

She marched back toward him. “One, you'll not whore around on me. You will not maintain concubines and mistresses. I'm it for you, Charlie Cass. Agreed?”

He swallowed and said, “Agreed.”

“Two, this is the shittiest proposal a girl could imagine. I expect you to go away, think about it, come back, and properly propose.”

She didn't wait for his agreement. “And three, I expect you to make me fall in love with you. Do that, and we can be wed.”

She turned away from him, marched to the door, stopped, and turned partially back to him in an all too familiar pose. She tossed a hip at him, winked, and said, “We may yet have that dance, spacer.”

 

CHAPTER 28

FEW MASKS REMAIN

“Y
ou must tell them, Your Grace,” Ethallan said.

Charlie paced across the conference room where he was about to meet with the three leaders of the Free Aagerbanni Resistance: Tarlo, Dirkas, and Somal. Ethallan and Arthur had ganged up on him, arguing for him to drop the fictitious Chevard persona. “I can't declare myself openly. It's too soon.”

“She's right, Charlie,” Arthur said. “They'll never truly trust an unknown like Edwin Chevard, and will support him only so far as he can provide something they need, like this station and its ser­vices. But Charlie Cass, the legendary commander who beat Goutain at Solista, the man who brought two thousand men through the most abominable prison conditions, and brought them home alive. That's different.”

“Your Grace, please forgive me for putting it this way,” Ethallan said, “but it'll not be hard to get them to support the de Maris bastard.”

“No,” Charlie said. “Not yet. Let me try it as Chevard, and if that doesn't work then I'll reconsider.”

Since there was too much danger the Aagerbannis might recognize Arthur, shortly before they arrived he left the room. Charlie switched on the distortion field and Tarlo, Dirkas, and Somal entered the room moments later. Since their first meeting, Charlie had met with Tarlo informally a ­couple of times on Andyne-­Borregga, and they shook hands cordially. Dirkas and Somal were somewhat more reserved since this was only the second time Chevard had met them. Ethallan served them tea; they traded bits and pieces of intelligence on the resistance and other activities. It was becoming clear that Goutain's naval forces were stretched to the limit, having suffered a steady stream of losses through attrition.

“But I don't understand,” Tarlo said. “We've been comparing notes with the other independent states, and we can't account for the losses he's apparently suffered.”

Charlie had thought about this carefully. He needed to show credibility. “It's the hunter-­killers.”

“I've seen those ships,” Tarlo said. “They couldn't engage even a small destroyer.”

“The what?” Dirkas asked, looking at Charlie and Tarlo. “What are you talking about?”

Tarlo said impatiently, “They're small warships called hunter-­killers. No more than about a fifty-­man crew.”

While Tarlo and Dirkas argued, Somal stared at Charlie as if she wanted to see into his soul. He interrupted the two men by tossing a single sheet of paper onto the conference table between them. “That's a list of ships those hunter-­killers have destroyed, along with dates, times, and coordinates. They total three battleships, six cruisers, and fourteen destroyers. They don't engage them. They sneak up on them and hull them with a big warhead. Frequently, there are no survivors. And the list doesn't include commercial shipping.”

Tarlo picked up the list and looked at it intently. Dirkas turned a silent look on Charlie much like Somal's stare. Still looking at the list Tarlo broke the silence. “This would . . . explain what we haven't been able to account for.”

“But it leaves something unexplained,” Somal said. “Namely: how do you know this?”

“Because they're my ships.”

Somal smiled and nodded. Tarlo looked up from the sheet. “Here on the station, rumor has it that those hunter-­killers have something to do with one of the Ten.”

Charlie shrugged. “Don't believe everything you hear.”

“So why did you call us here?” Somal asked. “This meeting, why?”

“Change of tactics,” Charlie said. “It's time for us to combine our forces, go on the offensive. I think we can put together a coalition. By my estimate, if we all contribute, we can put together an armada of more than a hundred and fifty warships, enough to rout Goutain and end this conflict.”

Charlie hadn't expected them to jump and cheer, but they met his statement with silent stares. Dirkas asked, “A coalition. When did this idea come up?”

Charlie shrugged. “Slowly, and only as I began to realize the possibilities.”

“And who would provide these ships?”

“You, me, the independent states, Kinatha, some of the ten dukes and duchesses.”

“Forgive me, Mr. Chevard,” Dirkas said. “But I find it a far stretch of the imagination to believe you could pull together such a coalition.”

There it was—­exactly what Ethallan and Arthur had told him. Seated at the end of the table, Ethallan met his eyes and lifted an eyebrow.

“You may have guessed,” Charlie said, “that I represent certain interests that must remain hidden for the time being.” All three of them continued to stare at him. “And I'm guessing that some of you, in fact, have realized Edwin Chevard is a fictitious name and a fictitious person. If I disclose whom I represent, will you give me your words it'll not leave this room?”

Somal and Dirkas nodded, while Tarlo said, “You have mine.”

Through his implants, Charlie asked Arthur to join them. The door opened a moment later, then Arthur stepped into the room and remained standing. Charlie switched off the visual distortion field. Dirkas and Somal both started, though it was clear they didn't recognize him. Tarlo didn't react at all.

Ethallan stood. “May I present His Grace, Charles, Duke de Lunis?”

Dirkas grinned. “You're the fucking de Maris bastard.”

Charlie stood and turned to Arthur. “And may I present my brother, Arthur, first legitimate son of Cesare de Maris and rightful heir to the de Maris ducal seat?”

Tarlo gave a loud whoop, came around the table, and shook Charlie's hand vigorously, then shook Arthur's. “Now I believe you about the hunter-­killers. Can you really put together such a coalition?”

Charlie nodded, but didn't speak the thought that came to mind.

I sure hope so.

D
el had to admit to herself that it was pure curiosity. Mr. Neverlose hadn't said anything in plain and simple terms, but from little bits here and there she'd gotten the distinct impression Charlie had had some sort of relationship with one of the trampsie prostitutes. Charlie and Arthur kept Del bottled up rather securely, and didn't allow her out into the station proper. Otherwise she'd go incognito to the trampsie bar where the girls worked. But since that wasn't possible, she'd asked Mr. Neverlose to bring the girls to her.

The two prostitutes were quite exotic and, Del had to admit, quite sexy looking. The one introduced to her as Janice Likesiteasy had dark, curly brown hair that hung to her shoulders, big brown eyes, dark red lips, and a dark complexion. Trina Godowna had a beautifully oval face framed in a wild profusion of frizzy red hair, green eyes, and black lipstick. Both of them wore simple dresses, nothing provocative, and yet they exuded sex appeal from every pore. Their little sister, Becky Neverenough, clearly barely into her teens, was just plain cute in blond pigtails and knee-­high stockings.

“Your Worshipfulness,” Janice said when they were introduced. Clearly uncomfortable, all three tried awkwardly to curtsy.

“Del,” she said. “Please call me Del. And forget the curtsies.”

Mr. Neverlose stood uncomfortably at the far end of the room. Del marched toward him and said, “Time to go, Mr. Neverlose. Only we girls allowed here.” She ushered him out of the room.

She turned back to the girls. “Can I offer you something to drink? Tea . . . coffee . . .” The three girls frowned so she tried, “Something stronger?”

Becky said, “Ya, I'll take a shot.”

“A shot?”

“Ya,” Janice and Trina both agreed.

“A shot?”

“Ya,” Janice said. “Whiskey, or whatever you got.”

Del rang for a servant, ordered a bottle of whiskey and four glasses. It arrived along with a bottle of soda and some ice. The girls each poured themselves a small measure of whiskey and ignored the soda, so Del did the same. They raised their glasses and Janice said, “Here's to ya.” They clinked glasses and the girls tossed the whiskey back in a single gulp, even their little sister, so Del followed suit. She wasn't a fan of whiskey, though she'd tasted her share, but not that way. However, she managed to keep it down without spluttering as it burned its way to her stomach.

“Why'd you want to see us?” Janice asked as she poured another round.

“Well . . . you knew Charlie, on Tachaann, and I wanted to meet his friends.”

“Charlie?” Trina asked, frowning. “Oh, you mean Frankie. Ya, we know Frankie.”

“Ya,” Janice agreed. “We call him Frankie. He's a good guy. Nice roll in the sack too.”

The girls all got a good laugh out of that, then they tossed back another shot of whiskey. Again, Del followed their lead. “Does he keep you busy that way?”

Janice shrugged. “Not lately. In fact, not for a while. I figured he was getting it somewhere else.” She winked at Del.

Del blushed. “We're engaged to be married. Well, as soon as he proposes properly.”

“What do you mean, proposes properly?”

Del described the conversation in which she'd agreed to marry Charlie.

“That moron,” Janice said. The three girls crowded around her sympathetically. Janice poured more whiskey in her glass. Del tossed it back and was starting to feel the stuff.

“Just like a man,” Trina said. “They're all idiots.”

The four of them shared thoughts on the idiocy of the opposite sex. The girls asked her for more details on the betrothal, and between shots of whiskey she explained the politics involved.

“Hey,” Trina said. “When he's gonna propose right, you make him take you to Momma's place.”

Del shook her head sadly. “He and his brother and their advisors won't let me out of these apartments. They say it's too dangerous. And I suppose they're right.”

Janice said, “Don't you worry about that. We'll talk to Momma. Nobody says no to Momma. She'll make him come through, and then you gonna get a good proposal.”

“But look at you,” she said to Janice. “My god you're sexy. How do I compete with you?”

“What?” Janice exclaimed. “Compete with me? Oh honey, you don't gotta compete with me. That man's so in love with you he can't see straight.”

“He's in love with me?”

“Course he is. Can't you see it? You must be showing him a thing or two between the sheets, eh?” She and Trina and Becky shared a look and a wink, then threw each other high-­fives.

Del blushed, and Janice frowned at her. “You mean you ain't done him yet?”

“Well . . . I . . . um . . . not after the way he proposed.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Janice said. “That's terrible. I mean, the man's an idiot, we all know that. But that man's gotta go do duke shit. He gotta kill ­people and fight wars and all that duke stuff. And if he's all tense because he's walking around all day with a hard-­on thinking about you all the time, well he's probably gonna kill the wrong ­people and start the wrong wars. You gotta fuck his brains out.”

“Janice!” Becky snapped.

“What?” Janice asked.

“You don't say fuck to a princess. It ain't polite.”

“Well then what do I say when I wanna say fuck?”

“You say screw.” Becky looked to Del for confirmation. “Ain't that right?”

Janice didn't wait for Del's answer. “Okay then, you gotta screw his brains out, honey. It's your civic duty.”

Becky and Trina both agreed with considerable vehemence that it was Del's civic duty to
screw Charlie's brains out
. As they left, Del could tell she wasn't the only one feeling the whiskey.

Out in the hall, just as she was closing the door, she heard Becky say, “You done great, Janice. I think Frankie's finally gonna get laid.”

C
harlie met with the Kinathins and, one by one, with representatives of all of the independent states. Other than Aagerbanne, the Finalsans were the only ones to enthusiastically endorse such a coalition, obviously because they were the only two states, as yet, under occupation by the Four Tyrants. For the rest, he had to cut deals and make promises. For the Kinathins he agreed to fight tirelessly for the end of slavery in the Realm. For all of them, he had to promise he too would provide warships to the coalition, warships in quantities he didn't yet have.

His one big disappointment was Telka. She alone could provide thirty or forty warships to a coalition armada, and her support would be critical to bring in Rierma, Band, Chelko, Harrimo, and Sig. The five of them, while smaller houses, could together muster another thirty or so warships. But there had been no contact from Telka, no response that she would meet Edwin Chevard here, and her absence—­and that of the others—­cut the strength of his armada in half.

The night before he was to return to Starfall he had invited Del to dinner at Momma Toofat's, where he'd arranged with Momma for a candlelit dinner in a private room. He hadn't planned on taking her to Momma's, but Del insisted, and when he tried to refuse, Momma came personally and threatened to hit him upside the head with a big rolling pin.

Delilah wore a bright red evening gown cut quite low in the front, even lower in the back, and fashioned from a lacy fabric that was ever so slightly translucent in the most enticing places. Charlie tried not to stare, but couldn't help stealing glances whenever possible. And of course she caught him at it repeatedly, seemed fully aware of the effect she had on him.

Momma's place on Andyne-­Borregga was actually two distinct establishments with separate entrances, a spacer bar on one side and a nice, though certainly not elegant, restaurant on the other. Janice, Trina, and Becky were all giggles and veiled looks as he escorted Del through the main dining room. Del saw them, waved, ran over to them and they all shared hugs. It surprised Charlie to learn that Del knew the girls. The four of them spoke in hushed tones for several seconds, their whispering punctuated by surreptitious glances his way.