“You never told me you knew them,” Megan said, cocking her head to the side. “When was this?”
“Long time ago, girlie,” Mirta replied. “Back in the old days when they were just king and queen of the Society in Norau. They were quite the item for a while. Then Sheida made the mistake of introducing Edmund to her sister and that was all she wrote.”
“How old are you?” Megan asked. The woman had always been reticent about her age. In the harem it had made sense; Paul tended to prefer young women and Mirta looked to be in her early twenties. And she could act like a teenager on cue.
“One hundred and forty-seven,” Mirta replied. “Don’t look it, do I?”
“Not a bit,” Megan admitted. “And you’re still fertile?”
“Didn’t start ovulating until the Fall,” Mirta pointed out, tying off a last knot and holding up the dress. “Better?”
“Very nice,” Megan admitted. The seamstress had taken the basic shapeless dress and brought in the waistline, added material to the sleeves so they fell in a V, cut down the front and embroidered the edges. “Very nice.”
“I can’t wait to get decent fabrics again,” Mirta said with a sigh. “It’s the one thing I miss about the harem. But I could only make those dreadful lingerie outfits there. I’m looking forward to making real dresses again. Crinolines and ruffs and properly formed bodices!”
“How did you keep from getting pregnant with Paul?” Megan asked, not to be dissuaded.
“Always knew when to present myself and when to look uninteresting,” Mirta said. “Kept track of days when I was fertile and avoided him then. Called the ‘rhythm’ method and it works remarkably well if you’re careful. Not as well as tansy, I’ll admit. I was glad when you started stocking that. But I could only filch the raw; I didn’t dare grab your distillate. You know that stuff is lethal, right?”
“I tested it carefully,” Megan admitted. “Stealing my herbs. You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
“The one and only,” Mirta said with a grin.
“And thanks for explaining the… social conditions to me. It makes it a bit easier to accept even if I don’t like it.”
“Oh, I don’t like it either,” Mirta said. “And I think it’s going to be hard to change now that it’s established. Especially given the fact that the economic conditions reinforce it. Get some power mills in here and it will improve. But until then…” She shrugged in resignation. “Well, it’s late and your ship’s supposed to arrive in the morning. I’d say get some rest.”
“I think I will,” Megan said. As she stood up Baradur stood up also and headed to the door to the corridor, stepping through and checking both ways before preceding her towards her room.
She watched the back of her bodyguard for a moment in puzzlement.
“Baradur, you were listening to the conversation I had with Mistress Mirta?”
“Yes, mistress,” the bodyguard answered.
“Does your clan hold women to be second-class citizens?” she asked.
“No, mistress,” he said, turning to look at her and grinning. “The women of the Chudai would never permit it!”
“Do they fight?” she asked.
“No, mistress, not unless our homes are attacked,” the bodyguard said, turning back to watch the corridor. They entered a narrow stairway going up to the high turret that had been set aside for her use. “Then they fight very hard; no one fights like Chudai woman at doorstep. And they take care of the home. But we men are always fighting and so they must take care of the farm, too. And they have voice in council. My mother is headwoman of our village. There is headman too, Barahadur Ju. He is war leader.”
“Why do you think you do it that way?” Megan asked, walking carefully. The stairwell was unlighted and the stone steps were slippery.
“Has always been that way,” Baradur replied. “Chudai are an old people. Always have been fighters. Women want male babies but a girl is accepted and loved. Women tell tales of old days when other tribes would kill girl babies as worthless. But not the Chudai. We came from far away, long ago. We were fighters for this land, for Briton and the kings and queens and the empress, all over the world. In time, there were no more wars and some of us settle here. But we kept our old ways, the way of the rifle and bow and kukri, the ways of our speech and the ways of our living. Now there are wars again, and the Chudai can live again.” He turned to her and grinned again, the round face barely visible except his teeth. “Is very good times.”
“Are you telling me you prefer this?” Megan asked, aghast.
“Prefer, mistress?” Baradur asked as they exited the stairwell. He checked the corridor beyond and then stopped, thinking. “If could change the world back, would. But Chudai are born to war. Baradur was born with kukri in hand coming out of mother’s belly. Learned rifle, bow, kukri, sneak, from father. Can touch deer on its flank, so quiet move. Can kill one man in tent in sleep and leave others sleeping. Was born to live this life, mistress. Would change back, but not for Baradur, for all the other poor bastards born to other life.”
“You are a very strange person, Baradur,” Megan admitted as they reached her door.
“Everyone say that about Chudai, mistress,” Baradur admitted with a grin. The bodyguard checked the room carefully, then came back out. “But nobody says we’re easy to kill. Will live with that. Good night, mistress.”
“Good night, Baradur,” Megan said, entering the candle-lit room. “Long day tomorrow. Get some rest.”
“Can I ask where we are this time, skipper?” Herzer said, coming up on the quarterdeck with a mug of coffee in his hand. The deck of the ship was bloody cold after the relative warmth below and he cupped the mug for its warmth.
“Thirty kilometers from the entrance to the loch or fjord or whatever it is,” Skipper Karcher said, leading him over to the binnacle where a small light illumined the charts. “One hour until dawn; we’ll be in sight just after. We may have to tack once to make the entrance clearly, but no more than that.”
“What about launching dragons?” Herzer asked.
“Do we need them?” Karcher said with a shrug. “The invasion fleet is approaching Balmoran from last word; there shouldn’t be any enemies around to speak of.”
“There are dragons in Briton,” Herzer pointed out. “I’d like to at least have Silverdrake up, if not more. Frankly… well ma’am, I’d suggest a full formation.”
Karcher looked at him in the pallid light and frowned.
“Is that a request of my dragon contingent XO?” Karcher asked. “Or the representative of Admiral Talbot?”
“I think… that’s the request of the representative of Duke Talbot,” Herzer said after a moment’s thought. “Whether it’s for protection, or show, I’d like to have a full flight of dragons up. Ma’am.”
“You got it,” Karcher replied with a shrug. “Launch at dawn?”
“And send messages to the support ships to be prepared to launch their Silverdrake just afterward, ma’am,” Herzer noted. “And more to the mer to give underwater coverage. I’ll be on the first ship’s boat in; Commander Gramlich will have the dragon contingent to herself.”
“What about your girlfriend?” the skipper asked.