Rulers of the Darkness

Even in the darkness imposed on it to keep from offering targets to Algarvian dragons, Setubal remained a busy place after dark. The Lagoans seemed to think they could use noise to make up for the lack of light. Everybody shouted at the top of his lungs. Carriages carried little bells to warn other carriages they were there. Ley-line caravan cars moved slowly and clanged big, deep-toned bells, as ships would during thick fog. From what the news sheets said, people walked in front of them every so often anyhow. Walking in front of even a slow-moving caravan car usually produced a funeral. But the alternative to going out in pitch darkness was staying at home, and the folk of Setubal didn't fancy that.

As far as Cornelu was concerned, the cacophony of shouts and most unmusical bells of all sizes and tones might as well have canceled the concert. "Powers above," he muttered. "I wouldn't be surprised if Algarvian dragon-fliers could hear Setubal, even if they can't see it."

Janira had a Sibian father, aye. She spoke the language of the island kingdom, aye. But she proved herself a true Lagoan by the way she navigated the dark streets back to the flat she shared with Balio. "Here we are," she said at last.

"If you say so," Cornelu answered. "For all that I can tell by looking, we might be going into King Vitor's palace."

Janira laughed. "No," she said. "That's down the street. And it's not half so fine a place as this." She laughed again. "Why, you can see for yourself."

To Cornelu, a sober, literal-minded man not much given to whimsy, that meant nothing for a moment. Then he got the joke and laughed, too. He took her in his arms. Their lips had no trouble finding each other in the darkness. His hands slid along the length of her. She let him lift her kilt and stroke her there, but then she twisted away. "Janira-" he said hoarsely. They could have done anything at all right there, and no one but the two of them would ever have known.

"Not now," she said. "Not yet. I'm not ready, Cornelu. Good night." He heard her footsteps on the stairs. The door to her block of flats opened. Then it closed.

He kicked at the slates of the sidewalk. She wasn't teasing him, leading him on. He was sure of that. One of these days, when she was ready, they would go further. "But why not tonight?" he muttered, kicking at the sidewalk again. In the blackness, he could have reached under his own kilt and relieved some of his agitation, too, but he didn't. Instead, he set out for his dockside barracks.

Not being a native of Setubal, he didn't unerringly find his way to them. He did manage to get aboard one of the many ley-line caravans gliding through the streets of the city. It wasn't any of those that went down to the harbor district, but it took him to a stop where he could catch a caravan that would carry him where he needed to go. He felt pretty good about that.

He didn't feel so good when reveille pried him out of his cot the next morning. Yawning, he staggered to the galley and gulped cup after cup of strong tea. One of his fellow exiles teased him: "You'll be pissing all day long."

"I probably will," Cornelu agreed, yawning again. "At least all the running to the jakes and back will keep me awake."

"Must have been quite a night last night." His countryman sounded jealous.

"Not so bad," Cornelu said. Janira, had she heard that, would have been irate; it implied he'd had his way with her, which he hadn't. But she wasn't there and the other Sibian was, and so Cornelu boasted a little.

He was going back for yet another mug of tea when a Lagoan officer he'd never seen before strode briskly into the mess hall. Suspicion flamed in Cornelu; an unfamiliar Lagoan with something on his mind was the last thing he wanted to see early in the morning- or any other time of day, either.

Sure enough, the Lagoan spoke up in his own language: "How many of you understand me?" About half the Sibians raised their hands. Cornelu followed well enough, but kept his down. The Lagoan switched to Algarvian: "How many of you understand me now?"

This time, Cornelu raised his hand. So did most of his countrymen. One of them called out in his own language: "Why don't you speak Sibian, if you want to talk to us?"

The Lagoan ignored that. Lagoans were generally good at ignoring anything they didn't want to hear. In Algarvian, the fellow continued, "You will all report to the Admiralty offices after breakfast for an important briefing."

"What's it about?" Cornelu called.

He got no answer. He hadn't really expected one. Having delivered his message, the Lagoan officer turned on his heel and marched away. Muffled curses followed him- and some that weren't so muffled. "High-handed son of a whore," one of the exiles said, and everybody else nodded. Lagoans were like that.