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CHAPTER ONE

PROFESSORE CLAVELL

Three weeks before the Battle of the Ottarn River


Gulls cried outside the windows of the Council Hall. A stiff sea breeze brought in a fresh scent of salt and the sea. The high-ceilinged classroom was ornate, decorated by oil paintings of ships and the sea. A large fresco of the Winged Lion of Nikeis dominated one end of the room, and on all four sides elaborate plaster cornices with painted geometric designs topped plastered walls. The desks and chairs were solid and functional, but the table feet were carved into lion paws, and everything shone from new varnish. It was the most elegant classroom Sergeant Lance Clavell had ever seen. Or heard of, for that matter.

The wall behind Clavell’s lecture table had been stripped of its decorations, and he pointed to the drawings charcoaled onto the whitewashed surface.

“This is the life cycle of the liver worm,” he said. He pointed to one drawing. “If you look into water drawn from cattle fields, you’ll see small moving flecks. They’re very small, too small for you to make out details, but in fact they’re worms, which we call liver flukes. This is what one would look like if it was big enough to see.” He tapped the diagram behind him.

“This worm is the cause of many of the diseases found among your cattle. If you allow cattle to drink from water full of cow excrement, you’ll always have the liver worms. They can get into people, too, if they drink that water. The worms make both people and cattle sick. The symptoms are about the same for both people and cows, wasting away, no energy, loss of appetite, sometimes blood in the urine or the stool. Cattle or men, it’s the same disease.”

Stop a moment. Let them digest that, he thought. Okay, now go on.

“We’ve asked the star masters we trade with to send us potions that may be effective in treating this, but we don’t have any now, so the only way to prevent having the worms inside you is to avoid them. So it’s important to learn how this spreads—which is mostly by letting people and cattle deposit their wastes upstream of where they drink.”

Well, they do listen good, Clavell thought. Twenty-two teenagers, four of them girls, scribbled madly on slate boards. Paper was far too expensive to use for student notes, even for these kids from the ruling families of Nikeis, but the professors at the local college—not really a college, but the closest equivalent Clavell had yet seen on Tran, other than Colonel Galloway’s University—assured him that writing notes helped learning even when the notes were erased the next morning in preparation for another day.

And it may be true, Clavell thought. I think maybe taking notes I never looked at again helped me learn. Can’t be sure. His college days were lost in an alcoholic blur.

He was pretty sure his pupils spent their evenings using their notes to explain what they’d learned to the local professoriate, and the professors were writing books they’d publish later, but that was fine with him. The professors were part of the old aristocracy. The rulers of Nikeis listened to them even if the old farts thought themselves too important to sit for lectures. The word was getting out fast.

The students were mostly from merchant and artisan backgrounds. Maybe. At least I think that’s where they come from. I know some do. But one’s the daughter of a high Council member. I don’t know what he does when he’s not being a politician.

Clavell shook his head wryly. This city-state republic was complicated, a lot more so than Drantos, where lords were lords and peasants were peasants, and everyone pretty well knew where he stood. Nikeis was different. There weren’t any lords. Titles weren’t inherited. Most of the power went to the rich nobles—what the hell is the difference between a noble and a lord? But there is a difference, and everyone here knows it, even if they haven’t explained it to me. Whatever the difference was, it didn’t prevent Nikeisian nobles from doing all the crap Drantos nobles did and shoving their noses deep into business and finance, as well. Or from knowing they were nobles.

At least they talk to me.

Everyone in Nikeis was polite, everyone talked all the time, and half the time they were lying. The problem was, which half?

But that didn’t matter much. Colonel Galloway didn’t care who learned what his traveling medicine shows taught so long as someone learned the lessons. The word was getting out. Germ theory of disease, infection, microscopic parasites, hygiene, inquire into causes, look for causes and don’t just accept that whatever happens is God’s Will. Ask questions and get answers.

Enlightenment, Colonel Galloway calls it. Enlighten them. So I do. Which makes me a real professore, even if them local professor guys are too haughty to come to my lectures like they were students.

Clavell had told the leading physicians of Nikeis about the germ theory of disease and the importance of hygiene. They hadn’t argued, but they hadn’t agreed either. Instead he was invited to lecture to selected students. Not medical students, because there weren’t any medical schools; you got to be a doctor by apprenticing to a doctor. But there were students in something very like an undergraduate college. In theory Clavell was part of that, and attending his classes was part of the curriculum for selected students. Which made him a professor, even if he didn’t get invited to many of the college’s social functions.

Professor Clavell. Clavell chuckled as he thought what some of his college instructors would have thought of that. Lance Clavell had a football scholarship and spent more time studying linebacker tactics than anything taught in an academic classroom.

He’d spent even more time drinking and smoking pot and generally letting things go to hell until he’d found himself faced with a choice between the army and life on the street. He’d became a gentleman ranker, a college kid in the army, but he could fight and after basic he was in pretty good shape again, so they didn’t make him a clerk. Over time he found that the army and booze together worked well enough. He wasn’t getting anywhere but there wasn’t anywhere he wanted to go. It all worked well enough until that damn flying saucer kidnapped them to Tran. Things started to go to hell then, and he had to start paying attention. Things got better when the troops got back together with Galloway. It could have been a lot worse. Galloway made him a professor . . .

“Professore.” One of the students had raised his hand.

Clavell glanced at his seating chart. Fernando Dandolo. Merchant’s son. Dressed expensive.

“Yes, young Master Dandolo?”

“We know this wasting sickness, but we never knew the cause. But you’ve told us you come from another world, yet you know of this worm!”

“Very good, Master Dandolo,” Clavell replied. “It is from—the world I come from, and where your forefathers came from.”

“Ah. Most thought the wasting sickness a curse, from witches and those who deal with the devil. But we’ve found that it is sometimes helped by ambulato berry tea,” the student said.

“Does it work?”

“Professore, I don’t know. It is said to be helpful. At least with people. I didn’t know that this was the same wasting sickness that cattle get,” Fernando said. His voice had changed, but not all that long ago, and was still high pitched.

“Can you get me some of that tea? And the berries it’s made from, of course.”

“Yes, Sir, I would be very pleased to do that.”

“Thank you.”

“It may be costly,” Ginarosa Torricelli said. “The plant doesn’t grow here.”

Clavell didn’t have to look up her name on the seating chart. She didn’t dress up, but he thought she’d easily be the prettiest girl in the room if she wanted to be. Probably the richest as well, and her father the councilor was said to be in with the Doge. Unlike the other girls in the class, she was a good student, always dead serious. Bigwig or not, her father was always pleasant, but he had a spooky smile that gave Clavell the creeps.

“Where does it grow?” Clavell asked, but no one knew. The consensus was that it probably grew in the southern lands south of the southern Roman provinces. Clavell frowned. He’d been in some of those provinces, and he’d never heard of ambulato berries. Harrison might know something. Clavell took out a notebook and made a very short entry with his ballpoint pen. The skipper would want to know about a cure for liver flukes. It might not work, but it was worth trying.

“I think it must come from the far south. Only the great ocean vessels, the navi, ever bring ambulato berries,” Fernando said.

“And your father owns two of them,” Ginarosa said. There were giggles, but Fernando nodded in agreement.

“Are these worms the same as the—uh—bacteria that cause, uh, what you called ‘infections’ of wounds?”

Lucia Michaeli. He didn’t have to look up her name either. She was always curious and often asked questions, but she got distracted when listening to long answers. Her parents were artisans and owned a bronze foundry. Clavell estimated her to be nine years old or so, but those were Tran years. She was probably at least sixteen in Earth years and she wore subtle makeup and dressed like a woman, not a girl. She was obviously quite aware that she was attractive, as well. Clavell wasn’t sure why she was in classes at all since it was pretty clear her ambition was to be a cortigiana. Of course all the females in Nikeis who weren’t already rich and high up among the ruling families dreamed of being cortigiane. It was an accepted way to power for women.

Almost accepted. There’d been some fuss last week about suppressing whores, and apparently the Council—one of the Councils, anyway, there seemed to be several of them with overlapping powers—had an ongoing debate over whether some of the cortigiane were whores or entertainers. Fernando had tried to explain it to him but Clavell hadn’t understood very well. Mostly, though, cortigiane were accepted as necessary and even desirable, as well as very expensive. Which didn’t explain why Lucia was in his class. What could a cortigiana learn here that would be useful to her profession? Maybe there was some prestige attached to being educated? Or she could just be naturally curious as well as bright.

Clavell didn’t know much about cortigiane. He generally consorted with a much lower class of feminine companions. Whores were legal but taxed and regulated, and Clavell was rich by local standards. Colonel Galloway sent his teams out with pretty good funding if they were going to civilized places, and he hadn’t had to spend much because the Signory furnished his quarters free and paid him a stipend to teach.

I could afford a live-in cortigiana. Maybe I ought to try that. Just for research, of course.

“Good question, Signorina Michaeli, but it requires more than a simple answer,” he said out loud. “It’s true that both the liver worm—we call them ‘flukes’—and the bacteria that cause infections are tiny animals, but the bacteria are so very much smaller that you’ll never see them without magnifying glasses which we don’t have. The liver flukes are small, but you can see them if you know what to look for.”

And damn all I wish I knew how to build a microscope! I could show them.

“There are many kinds of bacteria, and they cause many kinds of sickness. Likewise, there are many small worms that infest humans and our animals. The smallest worm is much larger than the largest bacterium.”

A church bell rang the afternoon hour marking the end of his lecture.

“We’ll continue this tomorrow,” Clavell said. “We’ll go through their life cycle, and learn how to prevent these little animals from making you sick and killing you.”

“Both the worms and the . . . bacteria?” Lucia asked.

“Yes, of course, both. But tomorrow we look mostly at flukes.”

Lucia smiled at Clavell as she left the classroom.

Flirting practice, Clavell thought. Son of a bitch, I’d like a piece of that. Best not. I get enough, this is soft duty. Dunno about her. Artisan class. Not nobility, but rich. Has to be rich or she wouldn’t be here. She acts like she’s available but you never know about girls like that. That’d be enough for Boyd. Any encouragement at all was enough for Boyd, which is why he never got sent out on independent duty. I don’t need his reputation! Skipper would never send me out on soft duty like this. And son of a bitch, this is soft duty!

The other two girls in his class were clearly from wealthy families, and they didn’t flirt. If they asked questions they were practical. One of them, Marchesina, was the daughter of a Senator and clearly expected to be married to someone of her own rank. That would probably be the Torricelli girl’s future too. Now that was one attractive girl! Her father ranked higher than anyone else’s, as far as Clavell knew. She was also the prettiest of the four, even if she didn’t act or dress like she knew it, and best not go there . . . Clavell supposed both were in school to learn household management. So now I’m a home economics teacher! Well, it’s still soft duty.

He waited until the others had left, then gathered up his lecture materials. He’d had a leatherworker make him a messenger bag/briefcase to hold all the stuff, and the fashion was catching on. Half the merchants in Nikeis carried something like that now. Clavell wasn’t sure he’d invented the thing, but he hadn’t seen anything like it before he got his, and now they were everywhere.

It’s good duty here, but it’s time to go back, he thought. Time and past time.

Giamo Fieschi was waiting for him outside his classroom. Clavell wasn’t sure who Giamo was. Obviously he was a son of one of the ruling families, but if he had any titles he hadn’t told them to Clavell, and Clavell had noticed that anyone who had anything like a title in Nikeis generally used it. Sometimes Giamo sat in on the classes, but mostly he didn’t. He seemed to be the one detailed by the Doge to look after the star lords.

“Ave, Giamo,” Clavell said. Everyone spoke some kind of Italian here, but most of the upper class also knew the mainland lingua franca spoken throughout Drantos. Clavell had grown up in a mixed neighborhood and spoke some Italian. Probably why the Colonel picked me to come here, he thought. ’Course the Italian I learned is a hell of a lot different from what they speak here! I’d probably have more students if I could lecture in the local brand they speak in Nikeis. Oh, well. I’m picking up some of it.

Between the mainland lingua franca and his bastardized Italian, Clavell got by. But just barely, he thought. Just kind of languaged out. Never thought I’d learn as many tongues as I know already. Soft duty, except that part. That’s hard, but I manage. Technical words were easy. He just used English, or the older Latin terms if he knew them.

He and Giamo exchanged pleasantries. As usual, they went on quite a while.

“Signor Fieschi,” Clavell said after he felt that had gone on long enough, “I must ask. Is my transportation ready? It’s very pleasant here, and your hospitality has been far more than generous, but I really must return to Drantos soon.”

Clavell had already found out there were few ships for hire in Nikeis. Nothing came into the harbor through the twisting channels of the mud flats and lagoons without permission from the Signory, and there were patrols all around the complex of islands and marshes. Nikeis was known as Queen of the Seas, and they took the title seriously.

“I’ve already stayed months longer than Colonel Galloway had expected me to.” Not to mention I don’t want Colonel Galloway to think I’ve deserted.

Giamo looked dismayed.

“We understand that you must leave, and the Signori of the Great Council made a ship ready,” Giamo said. “I had hoped to tell you this today, but today there was news from Drantos! Alas, I regret that your ship must now be employed for a different purpose.” Giamo seemed excited, not like the suave diplomat he’d been until now.

“News?”

“Alarming news. Grave news. News of war! The Five Kingdoms have invaded Drantos! Even now your Wanax Ganton summons all his allies to resist. The Warlord Rick has been sent to the west to defend against an invasion. He holds his strong points in Chelm, but in the east there has been a great battle. The Companion Morrone was defeated, and the Eqetassa Tylara has been made captive—”

“Holy shit! Damn all! Signor Giamo, I have to go and go now. Now!” Colonel’s going to have my head!

“Calmly, calmly!” Giamo gestured wildly. “The Eqetassa is safe. She was made prisoner by Strymon, Prince of Ta-Meltemos, and a man of greater honor does not exist. He would never harm her, nor will her ransom be severe.”

“Christ be thanked,” Clavell said without any trace of humor. Or of hesitation, he realized. Good to be among fellow Catholics. Well, near enough to Catholics. They have a bishop, and their masses look a lot like what we had when I was a kid, in Latin and everything. “But that doesn’t change the situation! I have to go report to the Colonel.”

“We agree,” Giamo said. “But there may be difficulties. The Wanax has demanded immediate aid from his allies. It is urgent that we answer the call of our ally, and our forces leave tonight in the only ships available. Without your ship there would be too little transport—even with your ship there’s barely enough for what we must send! They depart at once! The Council will explain as much as we can, and requests that you meet with them at the Doge’s Palace this evening at twilight.” Giamo chuckled. “Surely you can wait that long!”

* * *

Clavell made his way across the Palazzo San Marco towards the palace they had assigned him. Back in Italy, it would have been the Piazza San Marco and “palazzo” would have meant palace, but the Nikeisians used “palazzo” interchangeably for both.

Nikeis was a complex of marshes and islands, the larger islands high enough to have room for houses and palaces well above the high-water marks, others not high above sea level at all. All the islands surrounded a central lagoon, and it was obvious to Clavell that they were the above-water elements of a volcanic caldera. If there’d been any question in his mind, it had vanished the day he hiked to the top of the steep hills which towered above the flatter, sea-level plains of San Giorgio and San Lazzaro. The square he was currently crossing was Palazzo San Marco Inferiore. There was a Palazzo San Marco Maggiore on top of the hill, although only its tallest buildings were visible to anyone approaching by sea. That was because it was actually set into a large, bowl-shaped depression which was clearly an ancient volcanic throat. Clavell didn’t think he’d feel very comfortable living permanently on top of a volcano, but these obviously hadn’t erupted in a lot of centuries. And the broad, shallow bowl offered a lot more building area than one might have thought looking up at that steep-shouldered cone from below.

But Palazzo San Marco Maggiore wasn’t much used. The roads up the sides of the cone were steep and winding, and its height placed the palazzo far too high to be convenient to the seaborne trade that was Nikeis’ lifeblood . . . at the moment, at least. That was clearly subject to change, however, and there were also markets, and another cathedral, and palaces up there, as well, although none of them seemed important . . . at the moment. The Doge’s Palace and government were all down here at sea level.

Everyone reminded him at every possible opportunity what a great honor it was to have been assigned a palace on the main public square. Clavell supposed it was true, but the Palazzo stank all the same. There were too many people, and too damned many birds. Sweepers worked with brooms and buckets, but there were never enough to keep up with the birds and dogs.

Elegant palaces rose all around the three landward sides of the palazzo. Their lower floors held factories, merchants, saloons, and every other form of commerce. Two sides of the brick palazzo were lined with booths where merchants hawked their wares. Clavell was pleased to see cheesecloth covering meat in several of the booths. One butcher had built a glass case to show off perishable foodstuffs resting on ice, and ice cost a hell of a lot here in Nikeis. It was a sure sign that someone was listening to what he said in his lectures and his sessions with the ruling councils. Some of the merchants were learning.

Set in among the merchant booths were cafés with both indoor and outdoor tables where gaily dressed people drank wine and tea and talked in low voices. Clavell could understand why they talked in low voices. It was said that anyone you met—waiter, courtesan, sewage bucket carrier, anyone at all—might be a paid informant for the Signory. When he tried to find out just who the Signory were, he got different answers, but they all added up to being the people who ran Nikeis. There was a council with that name, but the word seemed to mean more than that.

The palazzo was crowded, and Clavell was careful to keep his jacket closed over his .45 Colt. Armor was forbidden in the city, although it was pretty obvious that some of the men in the Palazzo wore fine mail under their fancy robes. Clavell wasn’t sure what they’d make of his flak jacket, but he wasn’t wearing it. He probably didn’t really need the pistol, either, but he felt better with it resting in its shoulder holster. No one he saw was openly armed, but he knew that nearly all the men carried daggers.

Clavell wore the fancy clothes of the Nikeis merchant class, form-fitting hosiery and silk shirt, but when he’d had his outfit made, he’d insisted on a proper coat that he could button up. Nikeis was notorious for its pickpockets. Clavell thought the coat made him look pretty natty, and some others must have agreed because he saw two others dressed almost the same as he was. They were carrying briefcases, too. Lance Clavell, fashion setter! He chuckled.

As always he had an uneasy feeling as he crossed the Palazzo. He shrugged it off. It was easy to get spooked here, with all the stories of how the Signory ruled through assassins. All the stories couldn’t be true, because there wouldn’t be enough people left in Nikeis to run the place if they were. Even so, Clavell avoided crowds and was careful to note who came close to him, and the closer he got to the palace they’d assigned him the better he felt.

A drape in a second-floor window shook momentarily and was still. Servants watching for him to come back. It felt odd to have servants, but he wasn’t going to argue. It was the way they did things here, and he had to do the same if he was going to hold up his status as a star lord and the Colonel’s representative, didn’t he? Sure he did!

He chuckled and shook his head at the familiar thought as he crossed the last few yards of the Palazzo.

Soft duty, Lance. Soft duty!

Two liveried footmen opened the big bronze door to his palace as he reached it. Giacomo, his butler, took his briefcase and followed behind him as he went through the marble-floored rooms. Despite the luxury, he suppressed a slight shiver as he stepped into the welcome coolness. All of this would be underwater when the Time fully arrived, and he wondered how much, if any, of this opulent palace would remain when the sea level dropped again. What would it look like, gazing down from the tops of the hills or from the houses perched on their flanks, as the squares, and then the palaces, and then the cathedral disappeared into the rising water? When only the highest roofs, the towers like the one on the Doge’s Palace, and the cathedral’s spires remained above the waves?

They know about the Time here, he thought. Know more about it than I do, I guess.

The signs were all around him: high-water marks, nearly fifty feet above the Palazzo, were painted on every building. And Palazzo San Marco Maggiore sat up there nearly unused, on standby . . .

* * *

Jimmy Harrison was sprawled in a big leather chair at one end of the big room that served as living room, study, and reception room. It was a good room. The whole palace was—well, palatial, Clavell thought. Soft duty.

Harrison hadn’t bothered to dress up in local clothes. He still wore his combat uniform, and he waved a glass of beer as Clavell entered. A glass, not a mug or stein. They had real glass workers in Nikeis.

“Got some for you.” Harrison waved the glass again.

“Not right now, Clarence.”

Harrison sniffed. It was an old joke. Harrison had been named Clarence at birth, but he called himself Jimmy and so did most everyone else, unless they had an urge to tease him.

“Yeah, right now, Sarge,” Harrison said. Private Harrison emphasized the title. It hadn’t been all that long ago that both of them had been privates. Clavell didn’t think Harrison resented his partner’s promotion, but it was hard to tell. “We got news. All kinds of news. Hell’s a popping over on the mainland.”

“I heard some of that. What do you know?”

“Not one whole hell of a lot. Just that the Five Kingdoms have invaded Drantos, there’s a big army sitting on the Skipper’s lands in Chelm, Lady Tylara’s a prisoner of some fag prince, Morrone lost a big battle, and everything is going to shit. The Signory are sending troops to meet Wanax Ganton at the Ottarn River Ford, wherever the hell that is.”

“Fag prince? I heard it was Strymon that had her. He’s supposed to be big on chivalry.”

Harrison stood and carefully put down his own glass of beer so that he could pick up a fresh one. His left hand was missing. He wore a gloved wooden hand today, but sometimes he wore a dull hook, other times a fork thing, and it was amazing how well he could function with just the one hand. He could even shoot. Maybe better than he had before he lost his left hand down south.

“I made that fag part up,” he admitted as he carried a pint glass of beer over and held it out to Clavell. “Here. Look, I don’t know from chivalry. Not sure I ever heard of this Strymon before, for that matter. But it sure don’t sound good over there. You sure we want to go back?”

“Of course I want to go back.”

“Maybe you want to think on it.”

“Jimmy, what the hell are you getting at?”

“Just this, Sarge. Over here we’re important. You more than me, ’cause you have a real knack for this teaching stuff, but we’re both pretty big. Got friends, got girls, got some pay . . . ”

“I have some pay,” Clavell said. “Damned little.”

“Much as we ever got from Galloway. You get paid to teach. I get some ducats for physical and weapons training, some just for telling stories. Between us it’s more than the skipper paid us!” He gestured towards the paintings on the walls and the balconied stairs leading up. “We live damned good, Lance. We eat good, better’n we ever did with the Colonel. Got servants. And there’s none of this lords and serfs crap, anybody can be anything here—”

“Anybody born rich enough.”

“Naw, there’s plenty of room at the top for people who start low and get rich. That Torricelli dude, a real big shot, they say he’s one of the Council of Ten even, everybody knows he’s a prostitute’s son who got where he is as an assassin! And you don’t get no higher than a Tenner Councilor.” Harrison whistled softly. “Assassin. Hell, Lance, you and me, we been killing people for somebody else all our frigging lives! It never got us in the Senate! But it could here.”

Clavell took a glug of the beer. Damn good beer, he thought. Not cold, they don’t have any way to make cold except to bring in ice from the north, but damn good anyway. He winced.

“Problem?” Harrison asked.

“No, remembering about why they don’t have much brandy here.”

“Yeah. Making brandy with lead pipes don’t work too well.”

Something else I can teach them, Clavell thought. Maybe they know that already, but there’s so damned much I can teach. And it’s fun. And they learn fast here, too.

“Councilor Torricelli? You say he’s an assassin?”

“It’s what I hear.” Harrison shrugged.

“His daughter’s in my class.”

“I’d be damned careful, then. Just when I think I got things figured out here, something new happens. Like I think a chick has loose morals and she don’t, and another straitlaced one looks impossible and all of a sudden she’s spreading her legs in my bedroom.”

“Ever have the Torricelli girl?” Clavell asked.

“Never been near her. She never paid me no mind at all. Anyway, I never wanted to, and besides, come on, Sarge, do I look stupid? Man, you don’t want to be alone with that one! Suppose she invites you? What the hell do you do? Say yes, say no, you’re dead either way if she don’t like the outcome!”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I think, and so should you. You got the hots for that chick?”

Clavell didn’t answer.

“Shit. Well, be damned careful! Look, the women here aren’t like the ones we met back on the mainland. Complicated, that’s what they are. They study it!”

“Yeah, I reckon they do,” Clavell mused. “Anyway, she’s not likely to make me any offers.”

“You do like her.”

“Well, she’s a bright little thing. Serious.”

“Serious. Lance, you mean, like, serious? You thinking marriage?”

“Crap, Jimmy, I barely know her and she’s half my age. But yeah, I guess I am thinking marriage. Maybe not her, but somebody. Neither of us getting any younger. We’re never leaving this planet, time to think about—”

Harrison cackled.

“Come on. Since when have you ever worried about how old a girl was?”

“Like I said we’re talking marriage here, a lifelong thing, not just a roll in the hay. Compatibility is important. You never thought about it?”

“Sure. Then I think about the skipper and Lady Tylara, and I know better. Now there you go. Love match, that was, and now they look daggers at each other across the table.”

Clavell turned to look out the window that faced east across the Palazzo. Although the Palazzo was lined with buildings on three sides, the east side was bare except for a floating wharf at water’s edge. A football field’s length across the channel running along the Palazzo’s edge there was another island with more fancy buildings, each one of them with a highwater mark.

It’s coming, Clavell thought. The Palazzo was dry now, but every day there were six inches of water over it at high tide, and the way things were going it would be permanently underwater in a few weeks. As would the first floor of their palace not long after that.

“Jimmy, you saying we ought to desert? Just stay here?”

“I’m saying the Time is coming and they know about that here. Nikeis expects to do pretty well through this big time of troubles,” Harrison said. “They’re even hiring troops to take advantage of it. They’d hire us! So yeah, we ought to think about staying. We got a good deal here, Lance, and yeah, maybe we got our start as ambassadors or whatever the hell we are. I know that. But now you’re so damned useful they’d want you if they’d first found you hiding in the sewers! Yeah, I know where that leaves me, but it’s where I always been. Only thing I’m really good for besides telling stories is watching somebody else’s back. But Lance, I’m damn good at that! And it’s a lot easier to watch your back here than it was back there in Drantos! This is a civilized place, none of that dread lord with a temper crap. It’s a damn sight not the U S of A, but it’s closer to it than anywhere else we’ve been on this stupid planet. Keep your nose clean here and you’ll stay alive. Face it, wouldn’t you rather live like this than back with Colonel Galloway?”

Clavell shuddered. Colonel Galloway didn’t usually give any soft duty. One campaign after another, sleep in the field, eat whatever crap they could scrounge. One long damn campaign after another.

“Damn straight I would, but what do you think the Colonel will do when he hears?” he asked, and Harrison shrugged.

“Don’t know. What can he do from Drantos or Chelm? But maybe it don’t matter. I notice they’re in no hurry to let us start back.”

“I noticed that too,” Clavell said thoughtfully. “And Giamo just told me our ship’s got to go to the mainland without us, carrying some expeditionary force so they can honor their alliance with Wanax Ganton. He told me they’ll explain the rest at a meeting this evening.”

“Going to explain why they’re sending their troops but not sending us?” Harrison patted his holstered .45 and chuckled. “We’d be a lot more use to Wanax Ganton than a shipload of Nikeisian troops, and everybody knows it.”

“So I should ask them tonight,” Clavell said.

“Or maybe you shouldn’t,” Harrison said with a wink.

* * *

The Doge’s Palace was on the south side of the Palazzo, facing northeast across it, and like everything else in Nikeis it was ornately decorated inside and out. The walls of the entry hall were covered with enormous oil paintings, mostly of ships and the sea. One showed a big naval battle, a hundred galleys jammed together with boarding parties fighting it out on the decks while archers, crossbowmen, or javelin men fired from the forecastles and quarterdecks. Harrison stopped to study it.

Clavell nodded to himself. It never hurt to learn just how the locals fought.

The meeting was in one of the smaller council rooms. It was a lot like the room where Clavell taught his public-health classes, but better decorated, with paintings of young men and women lounging around on a picnic, and one big polished wood table in the center of the room. Nikeis seemed to have dozens of councils. There were Councils and councils, and it wasn’t at all clear which Council did what.

When Clavell and Harrison had first arrived—on a hired Nikeisian ship; no one else had been willing to take them there—they’d been presented to what they were told was the Signory in the Grand Hall. The Doge had sat on his high throne and several dozen men of all ages from twenty to ancient had stood in a patterned array in front of him, all in red and blue robes and elaborate hats, while soldiers with halberds had stood against the walls. Ever since then Clavell had been reminded of what an honor it was to meet the Signory, but he’d never been able to find out precisely who those people were or how they got their jobs.

Today there were ten councilors on one side of the big table as Clavell and Harrison were conducted to seats on the other side. Giamo stood against the wall behind Clavell, and after he’d introduced Clavell and Harrison he wasn’t talking. Clavell had met some of the councilors before. Others were complete strangers. They were all introduced, but in rapid fire Italian that Clavell didn’t really understand.

Their spokesman was Piero Avanti, who was introduced as Councilor Avanti. Clavell reckoned him at about forty-five Earth years old. The others were Senators and councilors. There were three Councilors. The Senators wore fancy hats, and outranked Councilors, but Councilors outranked Senators and dressed any damn way they wanted to. One wore ostentatious finery, but the other two wore very plain and comfortable clothes. Avanti was one of the plainclothes types, with a clean dark wool robe of a good weave but nothing fancy at all about it, and no ornamentation at all except a gold chain.

“Your Excellencies,” Clavell said. He’d learned early on not to address these people as “Lords.” They didn’t believe in lords, or said they didn’t, even if sometimes they acted as haughty as lords. “I wish again to thank you for your hospitality.”

“We are pleased that it pleases you,” Avanti said.

With warmth, Clavell thought. With warmth, like he meant it. Or like he’s a good actor?

“It has indeed pleased us,” he said. “Which makes me regret all the more that we must insist on departing.”

“But how will our young people continue their education without you?” one of the councilors asked. “They’ve learned much of great value. You have saved lives.”

“I’ve taught nearly all I know,” Clavell said.

“We would know more,” an elderly Senator said. “We have heard that your—Colonel—has taught the smiths of Drantos to make Great Guns, and gunpowder. We have smiths and foundries better than any in Drantos, and we would know more.” The tone was friendly and the accent was atrocious, but there was no question of what he meant. “Can you not tell us more of those?”

“Excellencies, we were sent by my master Colonel Rick, Warlord of Drantos, to teach public health and the germ theory of disease.” Clavell struggled with the words, which were literal translations of the English but sounded strange in the mainland lingua franca. And they’d be even stranger in Italian. Piccolo animali. Little tiny animals. “I’ve taught what I know to those who will listen, and now I must go teach others.”

“But you know of guns and gunpowder,” the Senator said.

“Senator del Verme does not ask for secrets,” Councilor Avanti said.

“Thank you,” Clavell said. I just bet he doesn’t. “The true word is that I know no secrets. I know about medicine and public health. That’s what I know and what I was sent to teach, and I’ve taught what I know.”

“We understand, but we know there is much more to learn,” Piero Avanti said. “We would know more of the ways of men among the stars, and of the Time to come. We beg you to stay.”

He sounded very earnest.

Clavell frowned slightly. “To be blunt, Signori, there seem to be few interested in what I teach.”

“You misunderstand,” Avanti said. “You have spoken to our physicians. Perhaps they will learn, perhaps they will not! Learned men do not always wish to be taught! But young people are eager to learn. Your students include representatives from our most important professions and guilds. Already our merchants are adopting practices you recommend. Those who do not—they will learn, too! Signor Clavell, the Most Serene Republic does not make sudden changes! We act slowly, and with care to see that what we do does not destroy the serenity of the Republic. Your theories have spread widely and are daily debated among physicians, merchants, and all those who are important to the Serene Republic.” He shrugged. “And you may at any time address the councils of the Signory. You have that opportunity at this moment! What would you have us learn?”

Crap doodle, Clavell thought. Song and dance time.

“Your Excellencies know about the coming Time of Troubles.”

“We have records,” Avanti said. “We see the seas rise, and the Demon in the night sky. We know the stories they tell on Terra Firma, but none of us are star lords. Do you now tell us more?”

“It’s beyond my knowledge,” Clavell said. “But my Colonel knows much more than I do, and he gives that knowledge freely to his friends. He’s established a school, which he calls the University. I am authorized,” Clavell stumbled over the word. “I am permitted to offer half a score of your people places at the University, where they will learn far more than I can teach them. I know little of the knowledge you seek, of astronomy or chemistry or the making of weapons. I am only a soldier who’s gained some medical knowledge, not a scholar. I have no great wisdom. Those at the University know far more and are better teachers.”

“Do they teach the secrets of the Great Guns to everyone?” Senator del Verme asked.

“I haven’t been at the University,” Clavell said. “But my understanding is that there is no secret knowledge. All questions are answered as best they may be.”

“To anyone who asks?” Councilor Avanti demanded.

“To all those properly admitted to the University. And I have that power of admission.”

“All questions freely answered. An odd concept,” Senator del Verme muttered. “Free knowledge?”

“We will eagerly accept your offer,” Councilor Avanti said. “We will choose those who should go. Doubtless you will know some of them already. How shall they proceed once chosen?”

“They will need to travel to the Garioch, or perhaps to Edron,” Clavell said. “The war will have made this more complex. I’ll be told on my return and I’ll make certain you know where to send the new students and what credentials they may need.”

“This is excellent news,” Avanti said, nodding in satisfaction.

“Then we may depart?”

“Was ever there doubt?” Councilor Avanti looked horrified.

“When will our ship be ready?” Clavell asked.

“In due time, Sergeant.” Avanti had no problems with that title. “In due time! These are perilous times. Pirates have reappeared in the Inner Sea. There is war on Terra Firma, armies and raiding parties everywhere. The Wanax Ganton marches to the Ottarn River where he will fight a great battle. We are obligated by our treaties to assist him with what we can send.” Avanti leaned across the table and regarded Clavell intently. A confidential tone came into his voice. “You do understand that the Serene Republic has very little army of its own? We hire captains, such as yourself—especially such as yourself, and Nikeis is known as a generous employer—when military forces are required. Indeed, citizens of the Serene Republic are forbidden to command more than fifty men, lest their ambitions exceed their due stations. Of course that limit would not apply to you, if you ever entered our service.”

Jimmy Harrison chuckled.

“What’s this expedition you’re sending in our ship?” he asked, and there was a moment of silence, then Avanti laughed softly as if to cover Harrison’s rudeness.

“Brother Antonio Moro, one of our warrior monks, leads three dozen brothers of his order and two hundred hired halberdiers,” Avanti said. “Those in orders are sometimes exempted from the limits placed on those who are permitted political ambitions. My own nephew goes with them as proveditor.”

“Alas, I don’t understand that title,” Clavell said.

“I do.” Harrison turned to Clavell and said in English, “Think a cross between supply officer and commissar.”

“Ah. How’d you know?”

“Our butler had that job once,” Harrison said.

“Oh.” Which means he’s probably still some kind of agent of the Signory. But then maybe everyone is.

“Could not we go with Brother Antonio?” Clavell asked. Colonel and the fricken Wanax would expect me to be there with your forces.

Avanti looked astonished.

“Why, I suppose you can! We had not considered that! We understood that you wished to return to Armagh, and we had not sufficient soldiers to send as escort through a war zone. Yes, you could go with Brother Antonio—”

Senator del Verme cleared his throat.

“Excellency, I regret that the ship departed an hour ago! You urged haste, and I thought that was your wish.”

And that’s an interesting little drama, Clavell thought. Probably rehearsed, too.

“It will be sufficient to conduct us to a Roman port,” he said. “Rome will escort us to Castle Armagh.”

Councilor Avanti nodded, but—

“Indeed,” he said. “Alas, that will require an armed galley. The areas near the Roman port of Taranto are not safe. The Romans have attempted to suppress the pirates of that region, but they have been unable to do so. Perhaps you would be safe in a Roman warship and perhaps not, but a Serene Republic ship will be attacked on sight unless it carries marines and projectile weapons—and all of the Serene Republic’s warships are on patrol except for the one we had assigned to your use, and—” He shrugged. “In any case you must wait for its return.”

There was more diplomatic talk, but it was pretty clear to Clavell that nothing he could say would get him out of the Serene Republic. Not now, and maybe not ever. Relax and enjoy it, he thought.

“So,” Avanti was saying, “we will know more another time, but perhaps it would be better if Your Excellencies did not attempt to return to your homelands just yet. Think on it! Drantos is invaded by at least two armies from the Five Kingdoms. There have been great battles, and the last one did not go well for Drantos.

“No one in Nikeis knows where your Wanax is, or where your Colonel Galloway might be! His lady was taken. Does he attempt rescue, or does he negotiate ransom? We do not know. We know only that there is war in your lands, all is unsettled, and until we know more, surely it is better to enjoy the hospitality of the Serene Republic?”

“Suits me,” Harrison muttered.

“We’re pleased to accept,” Clavell said. “Until we know more of the situation.”

Everyone in the room was smiling.


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