Falling From the Tree (Darshian Tales #2) Page 23

  The tutor, a dried-up elderly man without a trace of a sense of humour Karik could detect, was impatient with his distraction, and insisted he pay attention. His method of teaching consisted of making Karik repeat words and sentences over and over, and rapping his knuckles painfully with a ferule when he stumbled over something, or stuttered. It had the effect of making Karik desperate not to make the slightest error, and loathe the man heartily. Whether it would turn him into a Prijian speaker remained to be seen, but all he could do was try and endure, and to improve as fast as he could. It was either that or see how far up the tutor’s arse his damn stick would go.

  Voyaging: 14

  Arman saw the familiar outline of Kuplik draw closer without it giving him the slightest pleasure—indeed, the sick feeling of dread that had dogged him for the last few days only grew stronger. He was almost certain he would not be arrested when he landed in Utuk, but it was less the prospect of that, than facing people and situations he had gratefully left behind sixteen years ago, that daunted him. Missing Kei didn’t help and he hourly regretted he hadn’t given in to Kei’s well-argued pleading to come with him. He’d known he relied on his lover’s gentle temper to smooth his own, but he hadn’t appreciated just how deeply entwined Kei was in his thought processes and mental arguments, and how much he needed Kei’s uniquely humane way of looking at the world. His body ached too, wanting the comfort of Kei’s touch which he had not been denied in all these years.

  But now was not the time for such maudlin thoughts. He occupied himself with seeing how the Darshianese engineers had helped the Prij improve their harbour defences, and the placement of cannon. He noted too, the permanently stationed ships from Darshek in the harbour, both bolstering the Prijian defence against their troublesome southerly neighbours, and ensuring the Prij themselves did not in turn become troublesome. The ships here were but a small part of the Darshianese deployment. The greater number of troops and ships were in south Darshian. Lord Meki had very much wanted Arman involved in planning that deployment but he had sturdily refused. His military life, his days of death and killing, were behind him. He had promised Kei that and he had kept that promise. But the soldier in him still noted things that might be improved, and began, almost automatically, to plan how he would breach such defences as existed. He would never stop thinking that way—it was bone deep in him. So long as he didn’t act on it, it wasn’t really breaking his word.

  He kept out of sight as they came into dock—his face was familiar to many, and even after all this time, he was a hate figure. But no one looked at him, or commented, as he disembarked. He looked around for the promised embassy official and there, just as expected, was Urso, who had worked in the Ruler’s house for two years before going to Utuk. He knew the man and his young family fairly well and liked them all.

  “Welcome, Arman,” Urso said, holding his hand out in greeting.

  Arman shook the offered hand heartily. “Good to see you. How’s Kerti?”

  “She’s fine. Expecting our second child,” he added with a little smile of pride.

  “Ah, congratulations—I hope it all goes well for her.” Urso thanked him, then Arman asked, “Have you been keeping watch all this time?”

  “Not personally, but I was due to be here now anyway. The calash is this way.”

  On the short ride to the embassy, Urso confirmed what they had expected—that Karik had been placed under the guardianship of the sovereign. Also expected, but unwelcome anyway, was learning the boy was in the personal charge of Mekus. “Have you had any contact with him?”

  “Nothing. Yuko asks every couple of days but is only told Karik is well. They don’t see it as anything to do with us, you see.”

  “Naturally they would take that line,” Arman said heavily.

  Yuko came out to meet him as he got out of the calash, and Arman was glad to see him again. He had been a personal appointment of Lord Meki’s with Arman’s strong support—Yuko was a very able man, someone Arman had met under less than auspicious conditions years ago in Ai-Darbin, but who had become a firm supporter nonetheless. “Welcome, Arman. I’m sorry we meet again under these circumstances.”

  “As am I, Yuko, and I’m sorry you’ve had the trouble.”

  “Well, it’s all part of dealing with these people. Come in, let me get you some refreshment.”

  Over a welcome cup of pijo and pastries, Yuko and Urso gave him the full report, although there wasn’t a lot more to what Urso had already conveyed. “Essentially, Karik will stay in Mekus’s charge until someone claims him, or he turns eighteen, and one assumes he will then make his escape. He seemed prepared to do whatever he needed to get through. Fortunately he’s a sensible boy.”

  “Not sensible enough to avoid this mess,” Arman muttered. “I’ll need a lawyer—may I presume on the embassy hospitality for accommodation?”

  “Of course. Lord Meki said to offer you every facility. However,” Yuko said, opening a drawer and removed a letter, “your father sent this to me to give to you.”

  “Ah.” Arman opened it, wondering what his father’s reaction to this business would be.

  My son,

  It pains me to learn of your difficulties. Mari and I naturally offer you our best wishes in your endeavours to help this child.

  Should it be convenient, you are of course welcome to avail yourself of my house. If you receive no more suitable offer, I should like you to know I have given instructions to Vekus to give you every assistance. You may have lawyers you can call on from the Darshianese side, so I make no presumption.

  I have also instructed Tarkus’s firm to put whatever funds you might need at your disposal. Treat these as a gift or a loan, as you choose.

  Your father,

  Armis

  Arman winced. Sixteen years of patient rebuilding of a very damaged relationship, and yet his father still expected to have his generosity thrown back in his teeth. “My father wants to help, and I think it would be beneficial to bring him in on this.”

  “Excellent,” Yuko said, smiling. “He doesn’t suffer from the disadvantage of being foreign, as we do. He’s also put a calash and a very fine pair of jesigs with us for your use, and asked me to remind you that you still have clothes in store at his house.”

  “Gods, they’ll be full of the moth by now.” But the fact his father had thought of such small details touched him. His father was always thorough, but this went beyond being meticulous. “The first thing I need to do is arrange for Karik to be formally recognised as my son.”

  Urso cleared his throat. “I’ve taken the liberty of having our lawyers investigate the present situation and the relevant law. It will take a few days to arrange a hearing, but it should be a mere formality.”

  “Yes, it should.” It was unlikely Mayl would publicly flaunt her infidelity. “However, the sovereign may raise objections because of my unusual status.”

  “I think not, in fact,” Yuko said. “I’ve made tentative enquiries, and while it’s true she’s taking a personal interest, officially this is a paternity case like any other. I don’t think she’ll intervene. Not directly.”

  “One can hope. I’d best be heading straight to my father’s house. He knows when I should arrive?”

  “I believe he had a boy posted at the docks to watch,” Urso said. “He probably already knows.”

  Gods, did his father believe he wouldn’t even contact him? “Then a delay will be rude. Thank you, gentlemen. I’ll involve you in any developments. Yuko, if you would be good enough to let Kei know I’ve arrived, and he will pass the messages on. Has Gyo arrived?”

  “Not yet, but I expect word tomorrow—the following day at the very latest.”

  The northward journey was always a little slower, so this was no cause for alarm. Arman shouldered his pack and sought directions to the stables where, as promised, the calash and what looked to be his father’s best animals were waiting for him. One never saw jesigs of this quality in Darshek, and Arman rather missed
their speed.

  He felt a little conspicuous driving through the streets in his Darshianese attire and braid, even though he kept an otherwise unnecessary cloak pulled about him and over his hair. It was the first time in sixteen years he’d felt uncomfortable in his adopted role, and it was an unwelcome reminder of where he was and what he was doing.

  He didn’t recognise the servants who came to take charge of the calash but there was not the slightest surprise at his arrival, so he was clearly expected. Indeed, even before he got to it, a smiling Mari opened the front door. “Arman, how wonderful to see you again.”

  He bent and kissed her cheek. “And to see you, Mari.” He took her hands. “Are you well?”

  “Very well. I live a life of pampered luxury, as you know,” she said with a dimpled smile. “Come in. Your father has been fretting ever since we got the word of your arrival.”

  It was very odd indeed to step inside this house again. It had been the source of so much pain and hostility in the past, and it had been thirty years and more since he had been greeted so warmly at its door.

  His father was in the library and Arman didn’t miss the relief in the sharp eyes, even as his parent covered it up with a cough and a gruff, “So you’re here.”

  “Greetings, Father. I came from the embassy as soon as I got your letter. Your kind offers are much appreciated.”

  “Well, it’s the least we could do. Sit down, Arman. Don’t tell me you’re not tired after being on a boat for a week.”

  More pijo, and some of Mari’s own sweet cakes. She joined them, sitting at his father’s side as she had become accustomed to do. Arman was pleased to see his father looking so well and content, though he regretted the enlarged knuckles that were a sign of his troublesome arthritis. “And how is Kei?” Mari asked.

  “Very well, and saying only a little while ago how he was looking forward to a visit from you both again.” His father coughed again. “Father, did Yuko brief you?”

  “Yes, he did. Damn Mekus. He’s been insufferable, as you know, since Prijus married her Serenity. Amazing that he never trips and falls with the grandiose manners he has.”

  “But I imagine Kita thinks them only fitting. I fear you will wait a long time for his comeuppance, Father.”

  “True. So what’s behind this, Arman? Merely a chance to tweak your nose? It’s a lot of trouble for that.”

  “Yes it is, but at the same time, I can imagine their glee when the chance fell into their laps. The fear I have is that he really means to keep Karik. I’ve been working on the assumption this is just spite, but if he thinks somehow to get his son back—”

  “His...son?” Mari was looking at him in confusion. Arman had forgotten the depth of Mayl’s perfidy had been kept from her.

  “Ah,” Arman’s father said. He’d clearly forgotten too, a rare lapse for him. “Mari, Karik is Senator Mekus’s natural son—got on Arman’s wife while she was married.”

  “Blessed gods. And he knows this?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. However, he can’t publicly claim the boy without revealing he was carrying on the affair. I’m gambling he still values his public image too much to do that, and doesn’t want to show his wife up to be a whore. Pardon my language, Mari,” he added with a little nod of apology.

  “Oh, never mind me,” she said. “I’m not that much of an innocent. I just find the violation of the marriage contract a despicable breach of trust.”

  Arman coughed. “Er, well, you know, I was still married to Mayl when Kei and I...er....”

  She fixed him with a reproving look. “Then you should be ashamed of yourself too.”

  “Mari, Mayl played him false first, and this is ancient history,” his father said, looking rather embarrassed. “I just wish I’d looked into her character better before I allowed the match to be brokered.”

  “As you say, Father, that’s ancient history.”

  “Yes, but unfortunately history which resonates today. What do you plan to do?”

  “Well, I’d like to accept your offer of Vekus, if I may, and bring a claim of paternity. I can’t see any objections on a legal point, but you would know better than me if personal ones would be raised. Yuko thought not.”

  “Hmmm.” His father steepled his hands. “There’s no doubt your guts are soundly and comprehensively hated, my boy,” he said with a slight smile. “In fact, one would almost think you planned it that way.”

  “No, it was an accident of circumstance, I swear. But?”

  “But...well, Vekus can advise you better than I, Arman, but I’ve spoken to Tijus and he concurs with me Kita could only really block this by a direct order that Karik not be handed over to you.”

  “Which would bring her into conflict with Darshek.”

  “Exactly so. And while that fool she married is certainly stupid enough to encourage it for his father’s sake, the senate will not be happy. I can tell you Kita is slowly becoming aware she can’t continue snubbing her nose at her senators if she wants her daughter to rule unchallenged.”

  Arman leaned forward. “Things have become that serious?”

  His father nodded. “Yes, they have. The child is only eight. Her father would be regent were Kita to die, but Prijus has few friends, and he has lost Blikus’ support. It had been brought to Kita’s attention that if the senate and the army oppose her, there are claimants to the throne who would not need a regent—and who are the preferred sex.”

  “Interesting.” It reminded Arman just how limited second-hand reports could be. Of course what his father had just told him was too sensitive to be passed in ordinary letters. “So she won’t risk everything to suit Mekus.”

  “Not at all. However, Mekus is more than capable of making trouble for you.”

  “Yes, I know,” Arman said with a sigh. “Father, I should get on and arrange the meeting with Vekus.”

  “Let me send the boy with a message. You’ve done enough travelling for one day and Vekus is ready to come here to meet you, he said so.”

  Arman nodded, touched by the thoughtfulness. Mari stood up. “Armis, I’ll send him in to you. Arman, would you like to freshen up? Perhaps even a nap or something else to eat?”

  “A wash, thank you, Mari. And a chance to stretch my legs on solid ground, if I could.”

  His father grunted. “Leave Vekus to me. Go settle in. I’m sure you recall where your room is.”

  The gruff words were only habit. He bowed to his father. “Thank you. Knowing I was to see you both again, and could call on your support, has been a comfort, Father.”

  His father harrumphed, and waved his hand in dismissal, but Arman fancied he was pleased by the thanks. It was a habit Kei had taught him, and he sent grateful thoughts to his lover for the lesson.

  He took Mari’s arm, long residence with the Darshianese having also taught him the value of physical contact with those he cared for. “You look well, Arman. I swear you don’t age at all up there. Is there something in the air?”

  “I think it’s just being happy. You’re hardly wizened and decrepit either.” She looked the picture of gracious old age, in fact, every line and wrinkle earned from a life of sweet temper and gentle smiles.

  “Oh, you flatter me.” She opened the door to his old room—to his utter astonishment, everything was just as he’d left it the day he’d gone to be married to Mayl. He’d thought it had long ago been turned over to other use, but it only lacked his books and personal toiletries to be exactly as it had been when he lived at home. “Tijus packed your clothes and your father had them cleaned and stored for you. He was keeping them for Tijus’s boy, but he thought it was always possible you might want them again. I suppose he was right in that.”

  She opened the wardrobes, and there was, indeed, Arman’s modest collection of shirts, trousers and robes all hanging neat and clean, and apparently free of infestation. He’d mainly worn tunics and uniforms as an adult, but he had ceremonial and formal clothes, and a few civilian items which had seen little us
e. “I wonder if it’s best to appear Prijian or Darshianese,” he murmured, fingered a fine linen shirt.

  “I think it’s best to appear yourself,” she said simply, closing the door. “I didn’t know about Mayl and the boy. I’m so sorry you had that burden.”

  “It’s a long time past. Karik belongs to two very good people who love him dearly. I’m here for them, not for me. I care nothing for her, so long as she doesn’t stop his return.”

  She turned to look at him. “And will she?”

  “Not directly. But enough about that. How goes the school?”

  She clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, it’s going wonderfully. In fact, I’m going to take advantage of your presence and have you inspect it while you’re here.”

  “That will be a pleasure. How many students now?”

  “Twenty—we took on another two this week. And Piejis—you remember I told you about him? He says he wants to go to the academy in Darshek to study healing with Kei.”

  “Then I’ll speak to the Rulers about a scholarship. Excellent news, Mari. It continues to be a fitting memorial to them both.”

  “Your father was thinking of endowing another school in Garok. He’s spoken to Tijus about it.”

  “That’s also excellent news. You are, as ever, a good influence on our family.”

  She blushed. “No, the credit lies with you and your father—and Karus originally. Without his legacy, we’d never have started this, and without the money you gave me, we would have not have been able to take on so many children.”

  “Then it’s a joint venture. I’m just pleased it continues to thrive.”

  She smiled at him. “Look at me, bending your ear and you haven’t even unpacked. Let me have bath water sent in and you can clean up. We’ll be in the garden, so come out when you’re ready.”

  He thanked her, and once the door closed, he disposed of his few possessions into the drawers of the dresser. Karik’s pack he left alone, since the boy would not need it for some time, unfortunately. He sat on the bed as he waited for the hot water to be brought to him—a proper bath would be welcome after a week onboard, though he regretted the lack of Darshianese facilities in this house. So far, his return had been easier than he’d feared. It helped that he had not, as yet, encountered anyone from his past who was hostile to his presence. That would change the moment he brought his suit and his reappearance became public knowledge.