Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [111]
Rika stood up to get a better perspective on the geography. Seven nations, dozens of islands and rocky outcrops that once meant nothing to her, and even now were abstract, a collection of lines and color on paper. “Chancellor, what does all this mean, precisely?”
“It means, my lady, we’re sending thousands of troops over a period of time, the first of whom are marching or sailing east even as we speak. It is quite necessary to protect our people.”
It seemed rather odd, defending people by launching an assault on another island. “Can we afford such an enterprise?”
“That should not be of concern. We councilors have made sure that coin has flowed into Villjamur regularly. It is mainly cultists who are expensive when deployed, but we’ve little choice but to use them from time to time. I have taken measures to ensure that our tax revenues increase by cutting Veteran Pay, and taxing the well-stocked pensions of those already in the military.” He turned to present her with an earnest expression. “Essential, if this Empire is to protect itself.”
“Well … if you’re absolutely certain it is necessary. And the Night Guard?” Rika inquired, thinking of how useful Brynd had been. “Are they going too?”
“They are …” Urtica hesitated, “required to tackle separate incidents, Empress.”
He told her of events on Tineag’l, a genocide, a potential refugee crisis on a scale never before seen.
She nodded, didn’t want to admit any further lack of knowledge and, being a woman, felt that this was a particularly important position to maintain in a male-dominated arena. No matter how enlightened a civilization was, she felt that war always seemed to bring out some primitive urge in men, a need to demonstrate strength.
“My lady, I know there’s a lot to take in.” The chancellor smiled knowingly.
Perhaps he didn’t mean to sound patronizing, but he did. And he was right: there was such a lot to take in. “Then I’ll leave this matter under your control, chancellor. Although I would be very grateful to be informed of every military movement undertaken.”
He gave a gentle nod. “As you wish, Empress.”
“On another matter, I would very much like it if food could be sent out to the refugees.”
“Sorry, my lady?” Urtica replied, his eyes showing something like surprise. Or humor.
“I would like those people to be fed as best as possible. Even if just this one time. Think of it as a welcoming gift from their new Empress. Just because they’re outside our gates and homeless, does not mean they are not our responsibility.”
Urtica’s expression remained calm, yet contained a glint of something she couldn’t read. “An excellent suggestion, Empress. I’ll draft up orders to put to the Council, although it may take some time. I can see you have your mother’s compassion.”
“Do I?” Rika’s reply was full of melancholy.
“You do indeed. It was a great shame that she died in such … suspicious circumstances.”
“There was nothing suspicious about it.” She said the words before she had a chance to consider them.
“You think,” Urtica said, “that you know who the killer was?”
Again, the ghosts returned.
As a child, one day when her father was looking for her mother, Rika told him that she was with one of the guards in the private gardens. Such an innocent comment. She didn’t think he might see something sinister in her contact with this other man.
“It was suggested by many that my mother was having an affair with a soldier from the Dragoons, and somehow my father found out. Very soon her body was found in one of the lower levels of the city, lying flat on the streets. She bled to death, my father told us, tragically while on official business—whatever that may have been.”
Urtica gave a brief gasp. “Surely you don’t think your father was responsible for it?”
Rika remained silent. Yes she