53 - A Stable in the Rain

The Amir Isfahsalar -- at least on the surface -- sat on an upturned bucket, listening to the birds hiss and moan and complain, even as they scratched and picked comfortably at their bedding. They sounded much like enormous chickens and the image made him smile. It was raining still. Very much like the last time he’d been in Milar in the Emperor’s train.

At the end of that war, it had been an interesting trip, seeing as the old spymaster had been killed in that plot against the Emperor. Dukir… Isfahsalar, for now… had been promoted to Master of Secrets on the spot. Just being here was bringing back interesting memories.

Like the taste of wine, instead of kivi, on a lover’s lips. The sound of rain on the broad leaves of the trees, so different from the sound of rain on stone and sand. He shook himself. It’s a sign of age, old man, reminiscing like that. You have to pay attention to what is going on now. Keeping our young Emir-al safe for Mariush. Finding the Heir for your friend – the far from Immutable – his lip curled a little at the old joke. Keep your mind straight and straight truths will follow.

He looked down at the last letter from his daughter and smiled. The girl was so good at what she did. So like her mother, Light and Dark hold her safe. He cracked open the seal just as the Emir-as showed up. He kicked another empty feeding bucket over beside his ‘Amir’ and sat down next to him.

“Naser,” Dukir acknowledged him. Technically he was on duty but the Emir-al had insisted that no one could be on duty twenty-nine hours in the day, so he didn’t leap to his feet. Shiadan might yet learn sense as an officer.

“Amir.” With his hair slicked back and his face un-veiled – policy since the last war – he looked very young. “You’ve been here before.”

“This inn, nah. The country? Yes, Naser. ‘Bout the end of the last war. As I said, I’s a junior man then.” Junior to whom, he did not say. “Honoured, I was, ta bein’ in His Radiance’s escort, I was.” He tucked his daughter’s letter back into an inner pocket of his field tunic for later.

“Did it rain like this then?”

“We were later in the season, Naser. ‘T spring rains ease up.”

“I never thought I’d get tired of rain.”

“’s why ‘t court does ‘rain watchin’, Naser… You know. By ‘t time the Basin’s full and ‘t city’s pretending it’s water rich…” It was part of the whole cycle of life in Lainz. Desert brutality most of the year with water pumped drop by precious drop up from the river below, but for a few moons the Basin was filled by the spring rains, the reservoirs on the rim. That was when water was not only merely cheap but a force to be reckoned with, even feared.

That was when the floating rooms in the Basin were uninhabitable, pressed up tight against the bottom of the city, in the dark.  It was only when the water level fell that people moved in again and those little bubbles settled onto their stilts once more.  Once, as a young man under Emir-al Sufish’s command, he’d almost been caught by a miscreant he’d been stalking and been forced to find a pocket of air pressed up under the rock of the city.  It had been ironic then thinking he might drown in the desert.

“’ser, we get higher in these hills and the whole thing… everything’s so green ‘talmost hurts. Gets tah you.” He thumped himself in the chest. “… here. Like you have to remember every mornin’, oh yeah that green. Kinda like flowerin’.  Home planet green. Birds’ll quit moanin’ and start fishin’ in every ditch, turnin’ over every rock if ye let ‘em. By ‘t time we get up high… they’ll be fat, ‘n happiest war-birds around, ready ta kill anythin’ that moves.”

“Wonderful, Amir. Just what we need in a peaceful trek. I inquired at the inn here.” This close to the border there were actually inns for strangers, especially since the trade agreements had re-built this whole area. Lainz weren’t seen much as interlopers here, more as new customers. Emir-al Raghnall had been able to make his inquiries in Lainz, even.

“They did see the boy, and warned me that further inland there’s some people unwilling to let the war go.”

“So they saw him. Did they say anything about him?”

“The name matches. Just Kyrus, no last name. Polite. Well spoken. Didn’t get involved in a bar fight that happened the same night he was here… nothing to do with him. Signed the book, paid his bill. The innwives said they remembered he was heading to Viltaria itself. They gave him the same warning, they’re sure they did.” He looked satisfied. “So we’ve not got to trace him from little village to little village but can go straight there.”

“Ah, Naser,” Dukir said. “We might could check along ‘t route. Make sure he din’t fall foul o’ some of those… war-rememberers.”

“An excellent plan, Isfahsalar! I thought you should know.” He got up in a way that Dukir remembered from when he, himself, was young. No joints cracking, even in the damp and the rain. “I’ll leave you to read your letter. I have several to write myself.”

Shaidan’s bird, His Radiance's Lesser Number Fourteen, feathers mottled green and yellow, clashed its beak across the wire mesh as he walked by. He reached over to the feeding bucket and grabbed a metre long meal-worm, held it for the bird. Fourteen turned its head to him, unblinking eye brought down to where the worm squirmed, suspended in his fingers. The leather tongue thrust through the mesh.

Its beak was only allowed enough play for it to eat, not rip the stalls apart, so it tossed its head back and gulped down its treat whole.

The once a week letters to your parents. Dukir thought to himself. Along with the letter you write every other day to Mariush. It took her a panicky long while to persuade you to love her. That one treason seems to be all you are willing to do against your Emperor. Good man. He watched Shaidan out the door. The little fact he was willing to feed his own bird treats, not seeing that as beneath him, like some, he added to his growing assessment of the young officer.