Through the Darkness

“Well, well.” Hajjaj peered over the tops of his spectacles at Captain Ifranji. “I have been called a great many things in my time, but never before a brigand. I suppose I should be honored.”

Ifranji’s mouth set in disapproving lines. “General Ikhshid takes a rather more serious view of this business, your Excellency.”

“Well, when you get down to it, so do I,” the Zuwayzi foreign minister admitted. He read the broadsheet again. “There’s more subtlety here than I would have looked for from Swemmel. Up till now, he’s always said Zuwayza has no business existing as a kingdom at all. Now he seems to be content with turning us into puppets, with him pulling a tame prince’s strings.”

“Even so,” Ifranji said, nodding. “General Ikhshid knows no noble by the name of Mustanjid, and has no notion from which clan he might come. He charged me to ask if you did.”

Hajjaj thought, then shook his head. “No, the name is not familiar to me, either. Ikhshid knows our clans as well as I do, I am sure.”

“He said no one knew them so well as you, sir,” Ifranji replied.

“He flatters me.” And Hajjaj was flattered, which didn’t mean he thought the praise false. He thought some more. “My guess is, the Unkerlanters found some merchant or captive and gave him a choice between losing his head and becoming a false prince. Or perhaps there is no Prince Mustanjid at all, only a name on the broadsheets to seduce our soldiers.”

“The seduction is what concerns General Ikhshid,” Ifranji said. “His thought marched with yours: King Swemmel has not tried a ploy like this before.”

“How much have we got to worry about?” Hajjaj asked. “Are our soldiers throwing down their sticks and going over to King Swemmel in droves?”

“Your Excellency!” Indignant reproach filled Ifranji’s voice. “Of course not. The men carry on as they always have.”

“In that case, Ikhshid hasn’t got much to worry about, has he?” Hajjaj said. His feeling was that Ikhshid didn’t have much to worry about as long as the war went well. If things went wrong, who could guess what might happen?

Ifranji said, “Is there nothing we can do on the diplomatic front to weaken the force of these broadsheets?”

“I don’t suppose King Swemmel will accept a formal protest,” Hajjaj said dryly, and General Ikhshid’s aide had to nod. Hajjaj went on, “Our men know what the Unkerlanters have done to us in years gone by. They know what the Unkerlanter invasion did to us a couple of years ago, too. That’s our best guarantee no one will want to have much to do with this Reformed Principality.”

Now Captain Ifranji looked happier. “That is a good point, sir. I shall take your words back to the general.” He reached for the broadsheet. Hajjaj handed it to him, and he refolded it and put it back in its envelope. Then he got to his feet, which meant Hajjaj had to do the same. They exchanged bows; Hajjaj’s back clicked. Ifranji, young and straight, hurried away.

With a sigh, Hajjaj sank back to the pillows behind his low desk. He sipped at the date wine left almost untouched during the ritual of hospitality. His face bore a scowl that drove Qutuz away when his secretary looked in after Ifranji left. Hajjaj didn’t know he seemed so grim. “Swemmel has no business trying anything new,” he muttered under his breath. Of itself, this ploy didn’t feel dangerous; if anything, it might even help incite the Zuwayzin against Unkerlanter domination. But, if Swemmel tried one new thing, who could say he wouldn’t try another one, one that might prove more effective?

No doubt King Shazli would hear of the Reformed Principality of Zuwayza from General Ikhshid. Hajjaj inked a pen and set it to paper even so. He was sure the king would ask his opinion, and he would look good in his sovereign’s eyes if he gave it before it was asked.

He’d almost finished when a horrible banging overhead made his hand jerk. Glaring at the ceiling, he scratched out the word he’d ruined. The banging went on and on. “Qutuz!” Hajjaj called irritably. “What is that hideous racket? Are the Unkerlanters dropping hammers on us instead of eggs?”

“No, your Excellency,” his secretary answered. “The roofers are making repairs now against the winter rains.”

“Are they?” Hajjaj knew he sounded astonished. “Truly his Majesty is a mighty king, to be able to get them out before urgent need. Most folk, as I know too well, have trouble persuading them to come forth even at direst need.” Doing his best to ignore hangings and clatterings, he wrote a sentence, then handed the paper to Qutuz. “Please take this to his Majesty’s secretary. Tell him the king should see it today.”

“Aye, your Excellency.” As Ifranji had before him, Hajjaj’s secretary hurried away.