Through the Darkness

“Clear?” Balastro nodded. “Oh, aye, that it is. But it is still not palatable to King Mezentio, who has ordered me to make that clear to you as well.”

Hajjaj’s courtesy grew even more frigid. “I thank you,” he said, inclining his head. “Now that you have delivered your sovereign’s message, I assume you have no further business here. Perhaps I will see you again on a happier occasion. Until then, good day.”

Balastro grimaced. “By the powers above, sir, I’ve known dentists who used me more gently than you do.”

“Do you speak for yourself now, or as Mezentio’s man?” Hajjaj inquired.

“For myself,” Balastro replied.

“If I’m speaking to Balastro, then, and not to Mezentio’s minister--who could, after all, be anyone--I’ll say that your dentist figure is an apt one, because dealing with Mezentio’s minister is like pulling teeth.”

“Well, if you think dealing with the Zuwayzi foreign minister is easy for King Mezentio’s minister--who could, as you say, be anyone--you’d better think again, your Excellency,” Balastro said. “I believed our kingdoms were supposed to be allies.”

“Cobelligerents,” Hajjaj said, admiring the precision of the Algarvian language; the distinction would have been harder to draw in Zuwayzi. “We have had this particular discussion before.”

Balastro’s sigh seemed to start at his sandals. “We’ve been friends a long time, you and I. Our side is winning this cursed war. Why are we quarreling more than we ever did when times were harder for us?”

“We’ve had that discussion before, too,” Hajjaj replied. “The answer is, because some of the things Algarve has done make my blood run cold. I don’t know how to put it any more plainly than that.”

“We will do whatever we have to do to win,” Balastro said. “We’ll have Sulingen soon, and all the cinnabar in the hills behind it. Let’s see King Swemmel keep fighting us then.”

“Didn’t I hear this same song sung about Cottbus something less than a year ago?” Hajjaj asked. “Algarvians sometimes boast about what they will do, not what they have done.”

Balastro heaved himself to his feet. That meant Hajjaj had to rise, too, even if his joints creaked. Bowing, Balastro said, “You make it very plain I’ve come on a bootless errand. Perhaps we’ll do better another time.” He bowed again. “No need to escort me out. Believe me, I know the way.” Off he went, strutting as if Algarve’s armies had taken Cottbus and Sulingen and Glogau, too.

Hajjaj’s secretary stuck his head into the office, an inquiring look on his face. “Go away,” the Zuwayzi foreign minister snarled. His secretary disappeared. Hajjaj scowled, angry at himself for letting his temper show.

A few minutes later, the secretary came in again. “Your Excellency, one of General Ikhshid’s aides would speak with you, if you are available to him.”

“Of course, Qutuz,” Hajjaj said. “Send him in. And I am sorry I snapped at you a moment ago.”

Qutuz nodded and went out without a word. He returned a moment later, saying, “Your Excellency, here is Captain Ifranji.”

Ifranji was an intelligent-looking officer whose medium-brown skin and prominent nose suggested he might have had an Unkerlanter or two down near the roots of his family tree. He carried a large envelope of coarse paper: carried it very carefully, as if it might bite him if he didn’t keep an eye on it. When Qutuz brought in tea and wine and cakes, the captain took two token sips and one token nibble and gazed expectantly at Hajjaj.

With a smile, Hajjaj asked, “Is something on your mind, Captain?”

“Aye, your Excellency, something is,” Ifranji answered, not smiling back. He tapped the envelope with his forefinger. “May I show you what I have here?”

“Please do.” Hajjaj opened a desk drawer, pulled out his reading glasses, and held them up while raising a questioning eyebrow. Ifranji nodded. Hajjaj slipped the spectacles onto his nose.

Ifranji opened the envelope and pulled out a folded, rather battered broadsheet. He passed it to Hajjaj, who opened it and read,

FORMATION OF A LEGITIMATE GOVERNMENT OF ZUWAYZA. By agreement with a number of nobles of Zuwayza and with Zuwayzi soldiers who refuse to fight further for their corrupt regime, a new government of Zuwayza--the Reformed Principality of Zuwayza-- has been formed at the town of Muzayriq under the rule of Prince Mustanjid. All Zuwayzin are urged to give their allegiance to the Reformed Principality, and to abandon the insane and costly war the brigands of Bishah have been waging against Unkerlant.