“We will, however, make concessions to those who cooperate with us.”
“Your Majesty, I assure you, all I did was lease my warehouse to Lord Gherat. Or rather my agent did. As far as I’m concerned, my dock properties are just one of the many business ventures I have.”
That collided with something Esclaur had said. “Do we know, Your Majesty,” I asked, “who owns the restaurant with the ice boats? Or at least the property the restaurant is built on?”
“Ah,” Jusson said, drawing it out as my uncle’s face paled. The king smiled while his eyes remained cold. “Your nephew’s not quite the bumpkin you named him, is he?”
At that point there was a knock on the door. The royal guard opened it and Lord Commander Thadro and Captain Suiden, returned from the warehouse, entered and bowed. “Forgive our intrusion, Your Majesty,” Thadro said, “but Trooper Basel’s funeral is about to begin.”
“We will be there.” King Jusson turned to Lord Chause. “We have to attend a funeral for a gallant—”
Basel? I thought. Gallant?
Jusson gave me a sidelong look. “A gallant trooper who was murdered as part of this whole fiasco involving Dru, Flavan, and now your House.” He nodded to two guards who moved to flank Lord Chause. “Please stay and enjoy our hospitality, Maceal. If you have need of anything, these guards will see to it. I shall return to take up our conversation after the funeral.” He pointedly waited for my uncle’s shaky bow before he left, pulling the rest of us in his wake.
The sun was just above the sea when we arrived at the churchyard. A pyre had been built of wood and Trooper Basel’s stag body placed on top of it. Both regular troopers and royal guards stood around the pyre facing outward, holding their swords in front of them with the points resting on the ground. Pennants were placed at intervals around the pyre also, and they flapped in the evening breeze—or because my personal windstorm kicked up again.
As we arrived, Lieutenant Groskin stepped up and saluted. Behind him came Jeff and Basel, still in stag form, who made their way to me. The royal guard who had accompanied us from the palace gave the haunt lots of room.
“Good job, Lieutenant,” Javes said, looking around.
“Yes, it is,” King Jusson said. Torches were lit, waiting for the firing of the pyre, and they painted the king’s face gold with flickering light. “Have you gotten over your squeamishness of the ‘magical,’ Lieutenant Groskin?”
Groskin cast a glance at Suiden’s glowing green eyes. “Yes, sire.”
“And you no longer believe that our cousin Rabbit and the Faena cat are hell personified?”
“Yes—I mean, no, sire.” Groskin now glanced at me, then away. “I didn’t really believe that to begin with, Your Majesty. It’s just that—”
“You know, we have taken a great dislike to that phrase.”
“Uh—”
“Go ahead! It’s just what?”
Groskin stared at the ground. “I was afraid, Your Majesty.”
“So you acted with—what was it you said, Captain Prince? Ah, yes. ‘Willful blindness and gross stupidity,’ and became something worse than just a frightened man—a dupe.” Suiden cast a sidelong glance at Javes, who found the pennant nearest him fascinating.
“And so betraying the trust of your captain and fellow lieutenant, and perhaps helping thrust us to the brink of war,” Jusson said.
Groskin didn’t respond.
“As this affects the well-being of our realm, we will discuss your disposition with Captain Suiden. Until then, you will obey your captain, understood?”
“Yes, sire.”
We continued up to where the clergy stood, Groskin falling in behind us. Patriarch Pietr was still in penitent sacking and without staff or any other badge of his office. He was flanked by Doyen Allwyn and Archdoyen Obruesk. “Your Majesty,” the patriarch said as King Jusson stopped in front of him. “As we are doing penance, I cannot conduct the funeral so the archdoyen will officiate.” He sighed. “He’s the only one who didn’t have a spritewood staff.” The archdoyen nodded, managing to look both smug and stern at the same time.
“I see.” The king’s face was blank, though his eyes narrowed.
“He understands, don’t you, Archdoyen”—the patriarch gave Obruesk a look that reminded me of Suiden—”that this is not the time for riding favorite hobby horses.”
“I am fully aware of the situation here, Your Holiness,” Archdoyen Obruesk said. His eyes rested on me for a moment, taking in the butterflies, then shifted to Basel next to me. “No matter how irregular it is to conduct a funeral for a deer, and regardless of the church’s doctrine on ghosts, the rites will be done correctly.”
“I’m sure that they will,” Jusson said. “Is Ambassador Laurel here?”
“Here he comes, sire,” one of the lordlings said.
The Faena arrived with Chancellor Berle. Behind them were other lords and officials—I suppose Trooper Basel’s funeral was the event of the hour. Not bad for a mere soldier, no matter how good a cook he was.
“Good,” Jusson said. “Shall we get started?”
Despite the archdoyen’s misgivings, the ceremony went well. I joined my troop and stood at attention while Obruesk recited the last rites over Trooper Basel. His deep voice merged with the ocean’s roar, and it seemed as if the sea itself was speaking.
“As we came into this world, so we go out.” Archdoyen Obruesk glanced at the dead stag, but to his credit he did not falter. “Shorn of what during life had defined us, we stand naked before God, where His light removes all obscuring shadows. So Trooper Basel also stands where”—the archdoyen ignored the haunt standing behind me—”his worth is not judged by riches or position, but by the only thing he can bring with him: his soul. And as we entrust Basel’s soul into the Maker’s hands, we give his body to the earth.” The pyre was now being ignored. “To the last embrace, to return to that from which we were formed.” He picked up a handful of dirt and, after looking about for a moment, threw it on the kindling.
“To the last embrace,” the rest of us intoned.
“Until the day we are summoned forth,” the archdoyen said.
“Until the new morn when we shall arise anew,” we said.
“All corruption left behind in the cleansing earth,” the archdoyen said.
“All shining with joy, reflecting God’s glory,” we said.
“The earth keep you, Trooper Basel,” the archdoyen said.
“The earth enfold and keep you safe,” we said.
“Peace, Trooper Basel,” the archdoyen said.
“Peace and rest be yours,” we said.
Captain Suiden picked up a torch and Captain Javes picked up another. The sun slid down behind the water, turning it orange, then red as they both lit the pyre. As dusk fell, the flames grew, and soon engulfed it, consuming the stag laid on top. I’d expected the stench of burning meat, and there was that, but underlying the char smell was again sweet grass and loam.
“Well, how was that?” I asked the haunt, turning away from the fire. “Feel like a little peaceful rest?” I looked closely at Basel, but he was just as he was before the funeral. Not even a little fading. I sighed. “You’re having the time of your life—death, aren’t you?” Basel tossed his antlers.
“Do any shades hang about after they’re avenged?” Jeff asked.
“Do not give him any ideas,” I said.
Chapter Forty-four
“We think we got all the ashes, but we will check again in the morning when it’s light, honored folk,” Laurel faena said.
We were back in the palace after Basel’s funeral. My uncle, with the threat of auditors tearing his books apart, spilled his guts. Chancellor Berle’s eyes sparkled with suppressed glee as she listened to names, dates and descriptions in which Lord Gherat figured prominently. It probably was too much, on top of everything else that had happened that day, for Jusson to hear in great detail how his trusted advisor and friend betrayed him, so afterwards he and his Own joined the Freston and the Royal Garrison troopers for a rowdy and boisterous dinner. The king himself toasted Basel again and again, each toast becoming more outrageous than the last as the wine flowed. The haunt had moved to the head table where Jusson sat with his lordling wolf pack and senior officers, standing regal with antlers held high, eating it up.