Diplomats and Fugitives (The Emperor's Edge Book 9) (7 page)

“Why can’t you go yourself?” Ashara looked past his shoulder, wishing she could find a way out of this.

“My work is here, and I know nothing of trees.”

“Except when blights in distant forests aren’t natural?”

“Also, I do not believe Basilard would care for my company,” Shukura said, ignoring her question.

“Basilard?” Was that the scientist? It was a Turgonian word but an odd one for a name. Unless he was an ex-pirate or ex-inmate. Something that required a tough name.

“The Mangdorian ambassador. He’s lived in Turgonia for a few years.”

“Long enough to get a prison name?”

“I don’t know the story of his name, actually. Perhaps you can discuss it with him en route.”

“Wonderful.”

“But don’t get attached,” Shukura said. “He won’t appreciate your mission.”

“My mission to mask the origins of this blight and keep his scientist from discovering a solution?” She almost wished one of the enforcers would know Kendorian and understand her words. Then they could arrest Shukura, and she could pretend she had never met him.

“Correct.” Shukura withdrew a folded piece of paper from a belt pouch. “The location of a Kendorian contact along the mountain highway. Give him a message, and he’ll make sure it gets to me. Keep me apprised of their progress.”

Ashara accepted the paper gingerly.

“Memorize that, then burn it.”

“Burn it? I thought spies had to eat their secret notes after they read them.”

“If you’re hungry, that’s acceptable as well,” Shukura said and turned, raising his hand again toward the enforcers.

“Ambassador?” Ashara asked before he stepped away. “This mission… will it help Kendor?”

Shukura tilted his head. “Does that still matter to you?”

Ashara hadn’t thought it would, but it did, perhaps because the idea of harming the wilderness and playing the role of spy and saboteur unsettled her, even if there was a chance it could help her reunite with her children one day. If she had to become a villain to get them—a real villain, not a wrongfully convicted one—then was it worth it? Would she still be someone who deserved to raise children?

“Yes,” she said.

“It will help our people. Obviously, there’s more going on than I can tell you about, but I can promise you that.” He met her eyes, his face earnest. Sincere. “It will help our people, and it will help you. Do you need to know anything else?”

“No.”

• • • • •

Basilard’s wish to leave the same day did not come true, not because he wasn’t ready, but because Maldynado had been shopping for new travel attire and because it had taken a while for someone to
find
Mahliki. Then she had spent the afternoon selecting and packing equipment. Now, in the predawn darkness, Basilard paced as a couple of soldiers toted heavy trunks out of a side entrance to the basement of the manor. The contents clanked and clattered, even though the men were careful not to jostle the trunks as they walked. With sweat gleaming on their foreheads, they deposited the last load in the bed of a military lorry that had been fired up and parked outside of the vehicle house.

Several times, Basilard had pointed out to Mahliki and anyone else who could understand him that there weren’t roads in Mangdoria, at least not the kind of wide and packed roads these steam-powered vehicles required. His people traversed the mountains on foot, occasionally with the help of pack animals. It would take a line of twenty donkeys to carry everything going into the lorry. Maybe Mahliki intended to collect her samples alongside the highway of the Turgonian side of the mountains, finishing her task before Basilard had to turn north into Mangdoria.

He stepped forward, helping one of the soldiers shove his load into the lorry. Anything that would get them on the road sooner. Shukura’s Kendorian friend had not shown up yet. If the lorry rolled out before dawn, Basilard might yet avoid having him added to his team.

Her
, Basilard corrected. Shukura hadn’t provided a name, but he had used feminine pronouns.

More soft clanks sounded, this time from the path that led from the basement door to the main driveway. Mahliki strode toward them, wearing a backpack, a satchel, and carrying two more bags in her hands. Despite the impressive load, she walked normally, a long braid of black hair swaying as it dangled in front of her shoulder. Her blue eyes gleamed as she met Basilard’s gaze and smiled. He had wondered if she might resent being sent on this mission, but if anything, she appeared excited for the trip.

She spoke animatedly over her shoulder as she approached. Sespian came out of the door behind her, carrying a crate in his arms. A soldier spotted him toting the load and ran up to take it from him, then barked for someone else to grab Mahliki’s gear. The two shrugged at each other, as if surprised to be the recipients of such consideration, but once their hands were free, they took a moment to face each other and clasp hands. Sespian said something, and Mahliki laughed. Then they kissed, and Basilard turned away, not wanting to intrude on their moment. Also, seeing happy couples together tended to remind him of what he had not had for so very long.

After a moment, Sespian hugged Mahliki, then headed back into the building, waving over his shoulder before disappearing inside. Mahliki watched until the door shut, then resumed her walk to the lorry. She removed a backpack that the soldiers had not taken from her and set it with the crates waiting to be loaded. As she stood next to Basilard, she made him feel short, as he so often did in Turgonia. Mahliki stood six feet tall and had the natural grace of an athlete—or a warrior—but he knew the various bulges in the pockets of her vest represented sample vials, tweezers, pruners, and magnifying glasses rather than weapons. Along with the scientific tools, she did carry a pistol on her belt. He had seen her take care of herself in battle and knew she could use it.

Mahliki peered into the crammed lorry bed, perhaps wondering if there would be room for all of her equipment. And herself.

The front cab is large
, Basilard signed. He had placed his pack in there, albeit it was a small pack with nothing more than a first-aid kit, a change of clothing, and a few days’ rations.

“Oh, good. Then we can fill up the rear.” Mahliki looked back at the basement door, as if she might be thinking of going back for
more
bags.

The soldier inside the cargo area, who was pushing trunks around to make room, grimaced, having caught the comment too. “Why don’t you hand that bag up to me, my lady? We’ll see where we stand. The crate of supplies from the kitchen hasn’t come out yet. Do you have food in any of those crates?”

“Uhm. I have nutrient agar.” Mahliki hoisted the backpack up to the soldier.

“What’s that?”

“A blend of peptones, yeast extract, sodium chloride, agar, and distilled water.”

“That doesn’t sound very good.”

“If you’re a bacterium or a fungus, it’s delicious, I promise.”

A snicker came from a nearby soldier. “The president’s daughter called you a fungus, Matrov.”

“She did
not
,” the first soldier said with an indignant sniff. “At least, I don’t think so.”

Basilard picked up one of the crates to help. It had an impressive heft, clanking and clinking as he lifted it. He wondered if there was anything left in the basement lab.

“There’s Maldynado,” Mahliki said, nodding behind Basilard.

The sun wouldn’t creep over the mountains for another half hour, so Basilard couldn’t see Maldynado that well in the darkness between the gaslights lining the driveway, but his silhouette
was
pronounced enough to show off a dark bulbous shape on his head. Whatever Maldynado’s newest hat was, it had the shape of a roasted turkey. A large one. When he passed through the illumination of a lamp, the flame reflected off dozens of silver disks sewn into the dark gray fabric.

“Interesting,” Mahliki said.

Perhaps he intends to signal my people from mountaintops
, Basilard signed. They had worked together often enough that she could understand his hand language.

Maybe because Maldynado was drawing close enough to hear, Mahliki responded in kind.
If nothing else, any highway bandits we encounter should shoot at him instead of us.

“Now
that’s
a fungus,” one of the soldiers whispered, pointing to Maldynado’s hat.

“Some kind of abnormal growth, anyway.”

“The hat or his head?”

“Can I say both?”

“I would.”

Basilard wasn’t sure if Maldynado heard the commentary as he strolled up, a rifle and a rucksack slung across his back, but he thumped Basilard on the shoulder amiably.

“Morning, Bas. Lady Mahliki.” He removed his hat and bowed to her. The metallic disks jangled like wind chimes.

Basilard made a note not to do any sneaking through the forest with Maldynado along.

“Just Mahliki, please. Father says the warrior-caste titles are anachronisms now, and I would have a hard time thinking of myself as a lady, even if they weren’t.” Her nose wrinkled. “Ladies are
old
.”

She hopped into the cargo bed, inspecting the placement of her trunks and pushing a few things around, even though the soldier up there offered to do anything she needed done.

“She’s just going to have to get used to that,” Maldynado said, adjusting his hat so that it tilted to one side.

Having a title?
Basilard signed.

“Yup. Doesn’t matter what her father says. Nobody is going to dare call one of Starcrest’s daughters anything except a lady.” Maldynado shrugged. “Nothing wrong with being a lord or a lady. I must say I miss it.”

Basilard knew Maldynado had been disowned by his warrior-caste parents, but he chose to misinterpret the words.

Being a lady?

“A
lord
.” Maldynado squinted at him.

You’re sure? I saw you carrying your purse around the other day.

“I’ve told you, Bas. That’s a man bag. It’s for storing manly things.”

Like a change of hats?

“A change of
manly
hats, yes.” Maldynado strolled toward the cab. “How’s that furnace looking, fellows? We have enough fuel? I saw the load in the back, and I’d hate to have to push this lorry up the highway into the mountains.”

A gruff-sounding soldier told him to get in and shut up. Basilard could see why Maldynado missed being a lord.

“Here’s your crate from the kitchen, Mister Basilard,” one of two soldiers walking up with it said. Basilard watched with some bemusement as they loaded the bulky crate. They could snare small game and forage along the way if necessary. He wasn’t sure why they needed so much.

Thank you
, he signed after they had found a place for the supplies. Perhaps someone had included rice flour and spices. He
did
enjoy cooking and might make a few meals along the way, especially if they caught up with Elwa and convinced her to join them. Because the presidential manor had a staff of chefs and meals were always on hand, he’d never had a chance to cook for her.

“You’re ready to go, sir,” the last soldier said, hopping out after Mahliki. He secured the flap at the back of the bed. “Your driver, Corporal Jomrik, is already in the cab, threatening to toss Maldynado into the furnace.”

I like him already
, Basilard signed.

Alas, the soldier could not understand him and merely waved a farewell.

“Don’t we need to wait for someone else?” Mahliki asked. “I heard someone mention a Kendorian.”

I’m in a hurry
, Basilard signed, turning toward the cab.
If she’s not here, we’ll have to leave without her.

“I’m here,” an accented voice spoke from the wall of the vehicle house.

Basilard picked her out of the shadows immediately, but he frowned inwardly, annoyed that he hadn’t heard or otherwise sensed her approach. True, he had been speaking with the others, and the noise from the lorry being loaded would have drowned out lesser sounds, but he should have noticed her, nonetheless. He looked forward to returning to the wilderness, where he would be in his natural environment.

“Hello,” Mahliki said, raising her right palm in a Kendorian greeting gesture. “I’m Mahliki.”

The traditional return gesture was for the other person to touch the raised palm with her own, so both people could see and feel that the other wasn’t holding a weapon. The woman wore a quiver and had an unstrung bow tied to her back, along with a short sword in a scabbard at her belt, but her hands were empty.

“Ashara,” she said, not stepping forward or lifting her arm.

Mahliki lowered her hand, as she said, “Welcome,” without giving any indication that the standoffishness bothered her.

“I’m ready to go,” the woman—Ashara—said.

As she strode out of the shadows, the running lamp of the lorry cast light on frizzy red-blonde hair pulled back in a tail and a lean build. She was one of the only people around who was shorter than Basilard. Her pack appeared heavy, but she made the three-foot jump into the cab easily, without using her hands. A couple of fir needles stuck out of her hair in the back, and Basilard wondered if she had come from outside of the city somewhere.

An, “Oof,” followed by the tinkle of metallic disks came from inside the cab.

“What are you supposed to be?” Ashara asked.

“Handsome, charming, and roguishly appealing?” Maldynado suggested.

“No, that’s not it.”

Mahliki snorted. “This is going to be an interesting trip.”

Basilard imagined his expression was on the bleak side as he watched her climb into the cab. He didn’t want interesting. He wanted uneventful.

Chapter 4

Ashara did not know what to make of the Turgonian scientist. She hardly looked old enough to be enrolled as a university student, so Ashara could not imagine she had much expertise in any field. She had introduced herself as Mahliki, a name that did not sound even vaguely Turgonian, but the men all called her “my lady,” implying she came from a warrior-caste family. Ashara hoped that meant the girl did not have any experience with the mental sciences. It would be much easier to fiddle with the results of her experiments if that were the case.