The Skawtsman stiffened again, face automatically settling into a stiff mask. The prince laughed softly.
"No one will trust me in the presence of warriors. I am always 'attached to headquarters' – given indefinable tasks, responsibilities without weight. If this continues, I will someday be a general without an army – save perhaps the two of you, grown old and gray."
Dawd ignored a soft snort of laughter behind him. "Why is the Jehanan girl important, mi'lord? Should we try and find her?"
Tezozуmoc's face changed, unhealthy pallor fading, eyes coming alert. "She sang to me, Sergeant. Their vocal cords are not ours, their range is higher, with abeautifulmellowtone…Ihavereada little about this place, dabbled in some books, watched the usual briefing holos. They are a very old race, very old. Their language is quite complex – even with a translator you will find a Jehanan can manage NГЎhuatl or Norman better than we can pronounce the simplest words in Uheru or Ssagatiak. But when she sang to me…" The prince's face lit with a smile. "I understood. I could feel what she felt, see what she saw."
Dawd frowned. Tezozуmoc gave him a pitying look.
"Do you think I am lying?"
"No, mi'lord!" Both Skawtsmen stiffened to attention.
"What you believe doesn't matter." The prince pushed himself up gingerly. "For a moment, my heart was light and all this gall drained away into forgetfulness. I would like to hear her sing again, if the kujen will allow such a thing. Perhaps I can learn a few of the words myself." He sighed, head drooping again. "I suppose the Fleet will depart and we will be gone before there is opportunity."
"Now…" Dawd was interrupted by a polite cough and Colmuir placed a hand on his shoulder. Obediently, the younger Skawtsman stepped back, clasping both hands behind his back. The master sergeant bowed to the prince, a comm-pad tucked under his arm.
"Mi'lord, two messages came while you were asleep. One from Grand Duke Villeneuve – he extends his apologies for not entertaining you at dinner, but the battle group has received orders to proceed to the Keshewan system with all speed. Your regiment has been left behind on Jagan to ensure the safety of Imperial interests here."
"When will they return?" Tezozуmoc looked up, concerned. Dawd was relieved the question had been broached – he detested the muggy climate here in Parus and wished to be someplace colder and drier as soon as possible. Preferably on a Fleet battlecruiser in transit back to the home systems.
"Three to four weeks, if not longer." Colmuir hesitated. "Regimental headquarters seemed a little surprised by their departure, mi'lord, and had no good answer for why only the 416th had been left behind. Apparently there is considerable unrest growing in the rural provinces against the Imperial presence. There is concern attacks against Imperial citizens or their business operations may occur."
The prince's nostrils flared, but he said nothing.
"The second message is a personal social invitation, mi'lord, from the kujen of Gandaris."
Tezozуmoc raised a weary eyebrow. "Another party?"
"A traditional hunt, mi'lord." Colmuir offered the comm-pad. "The kujen expresses his desire for the most-noble prince to join him, local dignitaries and several Imperial Army officers in searching out and destroying a pair of xixixit beasts which are preying upon the villages near his city. Apparently the xixixit are surpassing rare and not lately seen south of the mountains."
"A hunt? Are they mad?" Dawd surprised himself by speaking out of turn. Both the prince and the master sergeant favored him with disapproving glances. The sergeant decided to fade into the wall.
"I am sure my reputation as a fearsome warrior has preceded me," Tezozуmoc said in a very dry voice. "Do I make such a desirable party ornament? Don't these barbarians realize currying favor with me is utterly useless? Better they should hire a dancing clown in black and white instead!"
Colmuir pursed his lips and took back the comm-pad. "Mi'lord, this message came care of the Legation – I spoke with Mrs. Petrel, the Legate's wife, when she commed – and she implied the kujen of Gandaris is no good friend of Lord Bhrigu."
"Who is Bhrigu?" The prince's patience was waning. "Do I care?"
"Bhrigu is kujen of Parus, mi'lord. His liegeman Humara tried his best to split you in two the other night when you were…speaking…with Miss Bhazuradeha."
Tezozуmoc stiffened, staring at the master sergeant. "What? The rose-colored girl is named 'radiant sunrise'? Does Mrs. Petrel know her – I mean, personally? Would she have a comm address?"
"I have no idea, mi'lord." Colmuir sounded uncomfortable. "But it might be a good idea to leave town for a wee bit. Let things settle here, if you see."
The prince glared at the Skawtsman, then deflated abruptly. "Bhrigu is not a fool – not to have recognized her talent in the first place. He'll have her under close surveillance. She must have slipped away from him at the reception…"
"Mi'lord…"
"Hunting. Hah!" Tezozуmoc sprawled despondently on the couch. "All princes love hunting! I'm sure someone believes it's in my blood. Idiots…Yes, tell the Legation I will do my royal duty and show a brave face for the locals."
In the corridor outside, Dawd coughed discretely. "Ah, Master Sergeant?"
Colmuir looked up from his comm-pad. "Yes, lad?"
"Is it cooler in Gandaris?"
"Snowy mountains, Ser'gnt, right among high snowy mountains."
Dawd breathed a sigh of relief. Some chance of a cool breeze then. Then turned his attention back to the job at hand. "What about these xixixit creatures, Master Sergeant? Do we have any intel about them?"
Colmuir let out a hiss, shaking his head in disbelief. He handed the younger man the comm-pad. Dawd thumbed through the briefing, then stopped at a grainy two-d picture, appalled.
"Master Sergeant! What the devil is the Legate thinking? These things are vicious!"
"I would guess," Colmuir said, glancing back over his shoulder at the door to the prince's suite, "Mrs. Petrel thinks a three-meter-long wasp is less a trouble to our wee lad than the singing girl might be. And she would know, I think, being a wise woman if I've ever seen one."
Dawd grimaced again. "Does the prince have the faintest idea how to use a hunting lance?"
"None of that, lad." Colmuir gave the sergeant a sharp look. "Not our place to comment on the prince and his abilities! You'll keep a civil tongue in your head and your opinions to yourself."
The Horumkel Baths Street of the Eye-Shield Jewelers, Parus
Shrouded by a cloud of soft, billowing steam, Itzpalicue leaned back against glistening marble and closed her eyes. The stone felt cool against her thin back and she clasped both hands on a bare stomach. The inside of her eyelids began to yield up images – a little fuzzy, the humidity interfered with the commcast receiver – but still clear enough to make out a scene occurring not too far away.
She looked down from a ribbed ceiling, the spybug hidden among old cobwebs beaded with dust. Below her, the long trestle tables of a cabinetmaker's workshop had been cleared away. A pair of Jehanan in bulking robes and face-shrouding cowls unlatched a rectangular plastic case. The slate-colored lid rolled back, revealing two wicked-looking tubes stenciled with Imperial military script. There was a sibilant trill from the natives, a sound the old Mйxica recognized as pleased laughter. Each day she spent among these people yielded up more of their body language, slang and private conversation to her. Their language was almost musical, and she allowed – with some disdain – their poetry was affecting, even to her, a human with the wrong kind of ear to appreciate its subtleties.