Foreign Devils (2 page)

Secundus laughed out loud. ‘Of course, I wasn’t there, though I’ve heard this story enough times to tell it myself. After wooing her for weeks, he had her brought to his villa for a private audience.’

‘Private?’ Fisk said, shaking his head. It doesn’t take a Pandar to know what that means.

‘Alone, he disrobed her. Trembling.’ Cornelius slurped more whiskey and then giggled, a surprising sound coming from a proconsul who once ruled Rume itself under Tamberlaine’s watchful eye. He dipped his index finger in his whiskey, licked the tip, and then made it rise like a growing erection. ‘The tension grew. Rutilius’ spear, ever the symbol of the legions, became rampant.’ Cornelius laughed again and drained his glass. ‘Imagine his surprise when he realized that the Gallish lass possessed a spear of her own.’

Secundus slapped his knee, howling with laughter. Cornelius was overcome with mirth, unable to call for more whiskey. When the laughter subsided and the senator reclaimed control of himself, he brushed his moustache, smoothing the errant hairs, and popped his cigar back into his mouth. ‘Afterwards, he had her – I mean
him
– crucified.’

‘Ia help us, Father, you’re worse than a child,’ Livia said. ‘You shouldn’t be repeating such stories of your peers.’

‘Oh, Rutilius is a good chap, reliable as stone. A shame his one bit of foolishness ended so … pointedly.’

Father and son erupted with laughter again.

‘Well, love,’ Livia said, placing her hand on Fisk’s. ‘I will leave you to my father and brother’s dubious company. I hope they’ll act befitting their age.’ She glanced at Secundus and stood. As she passed her father, she laid a hand on Cornelius’ shoulder. ‘Or rank.’

With that she disappeared in the folds of the tent to retrieve her medical kit and remove herself to one of the optio’s dwellings to offer whatever bloodwork the legionnaires might need. I’d watched her there before at her labours. Half the men of the thirteenth were in love with her and the other half in love with the idea of her – a pregnant patrician woman, a medic, carrying Hellfire at her hip. She was formidable. She lanced their boils and mixed them balms and talcums and bound their wounds while they looked upon her like she was some goddess incarnate upon the earth, holding her in a talismanic position reserved for revered mothers, gods, and the legion’s eagle. Soldiers are terribly predictable. But Livia has that effect on people.

After her departure, and when the sounds of the camp quieted, four legionnaires muscled in a large box, removed the lid with crowbars, and very carefully lifted up and stood upright a tall still figure while Cornelius gestured with the tip of his cigar as to where they should place it.

‘A beauty, isn’t he?’ the senator said, looking over the stuffed figure of the
vaettir
.

‘He is impressive, sir,’ I said. ‘But hardly beautiful.’

Fisk remained silent, staring at the figure. Whatever taxidermist had prepared the carcass of Berith, the
vaettir,
they had replaced the eyes with smooth, milky glass, so that the fourteen-foot-tall creature seemed to stare into infinity as an unpainted stone statue might. But frightful he was; tall, his head in the shadows of the tent, the taxidermist had set the
vaettir
in a pose as if he were about to leap – legs flexed, clawed hands open and eager, lips pulled back in a snarl, showing sharp teeth.

‘Took the taxidermist two mounts to get the posture right. The damned fool had never seen an elf and I had to explain to him how they leap about,’ Cornelius said. ‘But I am well pleased, now. It will make quite a stir back in Rume.’

I looked at the mount. Maybe longer than I should have. Whatever they are, the
vaettir
and the
dvergar
are the two native intelligent races here in Occidentalia and knowing Rumans – even Cornelius – I would imagine that somewhere, at some time, he might’ve been party to the mounting of a
dvergar.

‘Damn straight,’ Cornelius said, walking around the mounted figure of the stretcher. ‘That jumped-up whore’s son didn’t realize he prodded the bear in the balls with a pointy stick.’ Cigar in his mouth, whiskey glass in hand, he reached up with his free hand and rapped on the
vaettir’s
ribcage right where its heart would be: the exact spot where Cornelius had shot the stretcher, punching a fist-sized hole in the creature’s chest cavity, killing it.

Rubus, the chief secretary, entered the tent and cleared his throat, lightly.

Cornelius turned, moving smoothly despite the whiskey and artificial leg. ‘Rubus! What do you think of this bastard? Fierce, is he not?’

‘Terrifying, sir,’ he said, and it sounded like he meant it. Rubus’ hair was shorn very short and on a metal chain around his neck were a set of ground glass oculars. I’d guess, due to the shortness of his hair, he might’ve seen some of the damage a single
vaettir
could wreak on the human body. In particular, stretchers have a penchant for scalpings. ‘It is the kalends of Quintilius, sir.’

‘Ah,’ Cornelius said, looking a little grumpy. ‘Already?’

‘Yes sir.’

Cornelius laughed. ‘Back in Rume there’ll be a great amount of fornication today!’

‘The Ludi Florae?’ Secundus asked. From what I heard around the fire, it was some sort of naughty Ruman carnival, but no one in the Protectorate or Territories celebrated it. ‘The old gods rear their fleshy heads. The plebs will be fucking in the alleyways.’

Father and son both laughed and then, together, noticed Rubus’ scarlet face. The secretary blushed to his roots.

‘Well then. Ahem. Place the parchment and device over here then, on the table. I can do the rest,’ Cornelius said. He moved around the table, limping only slightly.

An intrigued look crossed Secundus’ face and Fisk sat up, quaffing the rest of his whiskey. Rubus left the tent briefly and returned – his blush now gone – carrying a small wooden box wrought with silver pellum wards and threaded with etched intaglios deep in the wood. Waiting until Rubus left the tent, Cornelius flipped the catch on the box’s lid, revealing a velvet interior containing a warded silver knife, a stoppered inkwell, a bowl with a curiously fluted mouth, a stone, and an ornate device. The device itself was small, no larger than a human skull, and resembled the filigreed
daemon-
light lanterns and fixtures that decorated the
Cornelian
. Wrought of a detailed webwork of silver, it glowed and the sense of the infernal was strong near it – the device had a sulphuric, charnel smell.

Cornelius removed the items from the box, placing the inkwell at one corner of the parchment, the knife at another, the box itself on a third and the stone in the fourth so that the parchment remained flat on the table.

He held the device in his hand, staring into the low light emanating from it.

‘This device,’ he said, placing it on the parchment, ‘is the reason for Ruman pre-eminence.’ He waved his hands toward where the legionnaires bedded down in their tents. ‘Not Hellfire guns. Not steamships and mechanized baggage trains.’

‘What is it?’ Fisk asked.

‘We call it the Quotidian, as a little joke. If you used this device every day, well, you’d be bloodless in a month. It is
not
a humdrum little trifle. The way I understand it, it is a sympathetic
daemon
device,’ Cornelius said. ‘Secundus has seen it before—’

‘Yes, but it is always fascinating,’ Secundus said.

‘It is not a secret, by any means, but it is very valuable and expensive to create.’ He looked at the thing sitting there on the desk and then his gaze returned to Fisk and his son. ‘Eventually, you both will possess similar devices. Or more than one. Indeed, the higher you rise in life, the more Quotidians you will possess. It’s rumoured that Tamberlaine himself has hundreds.’ Cornelius sat down at the desk again and lifted the knife. ‘Currently, I have five.

‘I don’t know how it works, truly. I leave those matters to the engineers to devise. But I’ve been told that inside of this,’ he said, looking at the device, ‘is a one of a pair of
daemons
that are inextricably linked.’ Cornelius looked around the tent, as if reluctant to begin. His gaze fell upon me. ‘You, dwarf. Come here.’

Suddenly uncomfortable having a senator holding a silver knife with an infernal device in front of him, I stepped forward slowly.

‘You’re always loitering about? Eh? Well, this time it’s to your loss,’ he said, face becoming grim. I’ve oft remarked how Rumans – and Cornelius in particular – can swing from comical to deathly serious in a moment’s notice. And I’m eternally surprised that neither state lessens the impact of the other. ‘Put out your hand.’

‘My hand?’

His jaw tightened, lips pursed.

‘Go on, Shoe,’ Fisk said. ‘There’s nothing for it but to do what he says.’

I extended my hand. Quick as a mink, Cornelius slashed my palm – slashed deep, too – then snatched up the bowl and began to collect the blood pooling in my cupped hand. Rumans will always take deep and fast when offered. I’ve known that since I was a brawling little brat on my mother’s mountain.

When the senator was satisfied there was enough of the red stuff, he unstopped the inkwell, added a measure of the ink into the still warm blood and swirled it about. When it had mixed to his satisfaction, he repositioned the Quotidian device on the parchment, unsnapped a small latch on top of it revealing a mouth to what I could only think was some sort of reservoir, and poured the unclotted mixture of blood and ink into the device. I motioned for Lupina to bring me a wrapping for my hand, and when she was slow to move, I retrieved a cloth napkin from the table and mashed it into my palm.

The glow from the Quotidian became more intense, pulsing, and small wisps of vapour emerged and rose to join the blue tabac smoke hanging above us in the lantern light. Then, with a lurch, the device began to move. It slid across the parchment at a furious pace: in its passage it left a trail of ink and blood. The air of the tent filled with a scratching, hissing noise. The thing was writing.

‘This Quotidian is paired with Tamberlaine’s own,’ Cornelius said, looking away from the device’s movements. Lupina came forward holding the decanter of whiskey and poured him another glass. ‘In this way are the Emperor’s orders disseminated throughout the Empire, almost instantaneously.’

For a while, Cornelius, Secundus, and Fisk simply watched and drank whiskey as the Quotidian smoked and dashed about the parchment. Lupina handed me a wad of raw cotton, a dour look on her face. I mashed it into my palm. Eventually, Cornelius glanced at me and said, ‘Take up a glass, dwarf. Lupina!’ He pointed at me. ‘Whiskey. You’ve paid for that drink in blood.’ Then he smiled, curling his mustachios upwards. ‘You’re a freeman and a stout little fellow, after all, and a good friend to our family. Have a seat.’ With his bear-foot, he pushed out a wicker chair for me to sit in.

Rumans are mercurial. I took my seat, making deference to the senator by bowing my head, but all the while aware he could have me crucified tomorrow, on a whim. My hand throbbed with each pumping of my heart and I held my hand over my head to lessen the flow.

Cornelius watched me, implacably.

When the Quotidian stopped its movements a few minutes later, Cornelius didn’t move to pick it up. ‘It’s got to cool, a bit,’ he said, sipping his drink. ‘The blasted thing doesn’t get hot enough to scorch the parchment, strangely, but it’s hot enough to burn your hand. It’s as if it’s got a taste for blood.’

Finally, he gave the bowl to Lupina to wash and returned the Quotidian and its accoutrements to the box. From a salt-well, he liberally dusted the parchment, allowing the granules to absorb any surplus ink mixture, and then picked up the paper and began to read.

He stopped abruptly. ‘Get Livia in here,’ he said to me. ‘Now.’

TWO

7 Nones, Quintilius, 2638 ex Ruma Immortalis

I found Livia washing her hands in a bowl of bloody water underneath a
daemon
lantern. The optios sat near her, chatting in the easy, loose way that soldiers do when not actively on duty and camp has been pitched. She smiled as she noticed my approach.

‘Ma’am? Your father requests your presence.’

‘I’m almost through here, Mr Ilys. I’ll be with him shortly.’

‘He was adamant,’ I said.

‘He’s always impatient.’ She wiped her lancets, scalpels, and various sharp pointy things and began to place them them in her bloodkit next to the bottles of acetum and tersus incendia. ‘You’re injured, Shoe. Give me your hand.’ When she’s distracted, Livia will return to using my nickname. And I’d had that particular one so long – Shoestring – that I even thought of myself that way.

I gave her my hand and she turned it over in her own. ‘So calloused. It’s like they’re made of stone.’

‘A gift from my mother.’

She nodded, thoughtful. Picking out the acetum, and some cotton bandages, she cleansed my palm and wrapped it with gauze. ‘Aurelius says that one’s hands are the truest glimpse into the character of a man.’

“He is loud and portentous, yet his hands are soft,” I said, grinning, giving her one of the most oft-quoted lines from Bless’
His Infernal Demise.
New Damnation’s
Cornicen
had begun printing that play in serial, and I’d taken an earnest liking to it despite my obvious lack of any sort of education. Much to Fisk’s irritation, I’d even taken to memorizing some of the more penetrating bits.

‘What’s the emergency this time, Shoe?’

‘A message from the Emperor.’

‘And?’

‘I don’t know, ma’am. He told me to fetch you. As I said, he was—’

‘Adamant. Right.’ She lifted her medical case and said, ‘All right, let’s go.’

‘Let me get that for you,’ I said, offering to take the heavy case from her. Miss Livia handed it to me – and I realized that she was no longer a ‘miss’ now that she and Fisk had married and maybe she never was, but that’s how I always thought of her and still do to this day. There are some women who can bear the hardship and ignominy of life and remain blushing, fresh all their days. Livia was such a woman. And so her memory has never become lessened in my mind throughout the years.

We entered the tent and Cornelius held the letter in his hands, his face a study in concern. Carnelia had joined them and sat silently at the end of the table, slightly behind her father, as if trying not to draw his attention.

‘What is it, Father?’ Livia asked.

‘A letter from Tamberlaine. You’re involved.’

‘What?’

‘It seems that our Emperor has heard of your nuptials and has decided to use it against me,’ Cornelius said.

‘What does he say?’ Livia’s voice remained calm. Even Tamberlaine could not ruffle her composure.

‘Secundus?’ Cornelius said, proffering the parchment to his son. ‘Why don’t you do the honours?’

Secundus took the letter and read:

‘“To Gnaeus Saturnalius Cornelius, Governor of Occidentalia (Or The So-Called Hardscrabble Territories west of the Imperial Protectorate), Proconsul of Rume, Ambassador to Mediera, Princep of the College of Augurs, and in general a Crafty Old Bastard; from your Emperor, Lord and Master, Tamberlaine Best and Greatest, Ruler of Myriad Kingdoms, Wielder of the Secret of Emrys, Sacred God of the Latinum Hills, Master Debator and Adept Rhetorictician, and in general a Crafty Old Bastard As Well—”’

‘Well,’ Fisk said, leaning back in his chair. ‘That was chummy.’

‘Quite,’ Cornelius said, tightly. ‘He’s just getting started. Go on, Secundus.’

‘It begins “Snuffy—”,’ Secundus said. ‘Snuffy? That’s you?’

‘We had the same tutor as lads,’ Cornelius said. He did not seem happy with the letter at all.

‘That sounds friendly enough, Father,’ Secundus said, smiling.

‘It most assuredly is not. Read the blasted thing, boy.’ Cornelius’ moustache quivered. He occupied his mouth with whiskey and tabac.

‘“Snuffy, as for the dispensation of the troops in the Hardscrabble Territories, the fifth will of course remain at the fort in New Damnation, and the eighth and sixteenth should be en route by mechanized baggage train to Fort Brust and then on westward, per your recommendations. The thirteenth shall remain with the eleventh at Fort Brust to protect our interests, specifically to ensure the completion of the Dvergar Spur. That avenue of transport must be opened. The Medierans are moving and the blocade in the Gulf of Mageras is building strength. We must be ready should fat old Diegal get his cock hard enough to thrust.

“The news that Beleth has defected is of great concern to me. My advisors here tell me he was high in the college of Engineers, indeed, he was princep of the organization and wielded great power there – and was privy to all the secrets of the summoners. The events surrounding the Diegal lass are extremely unfortunate. You really screwed the Ia-damned goat in that debacle, Snuffy. In addition to your losing the girl, placing half an empire on war footing and, in general, destabilizing peaceful relations in all of creation, I have been having trouble grasping that this
daemonic
vestment Beleth created could negate the effects of Hellfire. Thankfully, we still have it in our possession. Please explain to me, in detail, how this could be so. I will, however, inform all commanders in the western theatre to recommence training with pilum and gladii, effectively throwing our military two hundred years into the past.”’

Secundus paused, cleared his throat, glancing at his father.

‘Go on, son,’ Cornelius said. ‘It gets worse.’

Secundus swallowed, thickly. He took a sip of whiskey and then resumed reading.

‘“I am quite vexed with you. I half-way considered issuing an edict demanding your nuts on a platter, Snuffy. However, I am willing to give you another chance to redeem yourself. I advise you to do your utmost to accede to my wishes.

‘“By the way, congratulations on your daughter’s nuptials – yes, I have other eyes and ears there in the Hardscrabble Territories. And I even have learned some of her new husband. The son of that bastard Fiscelion Cantalan Iulii, is he not? My wedding gift to them both is that I will not have him – or the lovely Livia – crucified. While I was tempted to do so, word reaches me that there’s a new Cornelian on the way. I’m sure you must be very proud, Snuffy, swelling the ranks of your brood. My great weakness is that I am a romantic; too kind-hearted, and I still believe in love. Why I did not crucify his father instead of exiling him, I shall never know. A passing malaise, perhaps. The influence of malevolent household gods? Nevertheless, I issued the exile edict and he absconded with three hundred talents of silver. But tell me. Is this Fisk ostentatious?

‘“I require some things from you. You, your son Secundus, your daughters Livia and Carnelia, will present yourselves here, in Rume, at my court for Ia Terminalia, to present me with gifts due my exalted station – that’s right, Snuffy, exalted – and make obeisance for your failures in the west. Rutilius will act as governor in your stead. We must prepare for war and I need your counsels here, for the time being, so that we can take stock of the resources of the Protectorate and the Hardscrabble Territories. In time – sooner, rather than later – you will have to return there and take command of our legions in the west. I trust Rutilius but he is a peacetime commander, wonderful at training and building legions, but not in commanding them on the field. And Marcellus, while a fine commander, has low blood. So it falls to you. Congratulations. Had you not been such a pedigreed and able commander, your testicles might be adorning one of my altars to Ia.

‘“After Terminalia, Secundus and Livia will travel on east, and bear a message to the Autumn Lords for me, becoming my emissaries to Kithai in hopes of finding an avenue toward peace and prosperous trade.

‘“Your son-in-law – who I hear is quite able – will remain there in the west and track down Beleth and return him to Ruman custody – or failing that, kill him and preserve his head – appended to this message will be his orders. There will be no more defections from the Ruman Collegium of Engineers. And yet. This must be done quietly and in secret. A blatant and obvious traitor can do more damage to the empire than any loss of knowledge. My heart is heavy that Livia and this Fiscelion must be separated so soon after their wedding but the needs of the Empire are tantamount. And I want traitor Beleth’s head. He cannot leave those territories.

‘“It is only fitting, is it not? A traitor’s son shall hunt a traitor.

‘“That is all. I shall expect you at Terminalia. Do not fail me. Your old friend, Tamberlaine.”’

When Secundus finished, the tent remained silent for a long while, each of the Cornelians lost in their own thoughts.

‘What does it mean?’ Carnelia asked, breaking the silence.

‘It means exactly what it says,’ Cornelius said, outrage pouring off him. ‘He’s pulling me back to Rume! The venomous old sot! He knows how it will appear to the other benchers – it will weaken my position in senate! It’s a public humiliation! As if I wasn’t competent enough to govern! And while I’m gone, all of the skim of taxes will go to Rutilius.’ He quivered in anger, or fear, I couldn’t tell. ‘A public shaming. I would rather he just crucify me.’

‘I think you might be reading too much into this, Father,’ Secundus said.

‘I wish you were right, son,’ Cornelius said. ‘Tamberlaine revels in mixed messages. He pulls me home, but tells me it’s because he values my advice. He gives congratulations to Livia and Fisk, yet he separates them. He’s a venomous old shit,’ he spat, and then waved Lupina over to refill his glass.

No one else had noticed, but Livia and Fisk had locked gazes the moment that Secundus had read the name Fiscelion. There was a sadness there now.

‘Can you defy him?’ Fisk asked, softly.

‘No, love. All I can hope to do is fulfil his orders as best I may,’ Livia said.

Cornelius, seeming to realize that others than himself might be affected by the Imperial missive, said, ‘Tamberlaine’s a shit, but he will keep his word. When we return to Rume, you must get him to agree to allow you to return to Fisk after you complete your task.’ He looked at Fisk, pointedly. ‘Your reunion with your wife—’

‘And child,’ Livia said, touching her stomach.

‘Your
reunion
will be hastened if you can present Tamberlaine with Beleth. Or his head.’

‘So that’s it, then? Shoe and I hunt down the Engineer and the rest of you are back to Rume? And then—’ Fisk stopped. His voice remained calm but underneath I could tell fierce currents of emotion churned. ‘And then Livia and Secundus are to voyage halfway around the world to treat with the Autumn Lords. With my child! Why should we not refuse?’

Cornelius shook his head, sadly. He gestured at Livia’s midriff with his cigar. ‘You’d doom that lad.’ He thought for a moment, his lips pursed. ‘You’re a good man, Fisk. We know it. Tamberlaine doesn’t and whatever his complexities, he won’t be thwarted. Should he send me a missive to take you in chains—’

‘You’d do it,’ Fisk said. ‘And if he ordered you to crucify Livia? What then?’

‘Let’s make sure it doesn’t come to that.’ Cornelius stood and stumped around the table bearing the maps, to stand between Fisk and Livia. ‘In one sense, it’s a great honour to our family – Tamberlaine wouldn’t trust just anyone to the task of journeying to Kithai. On the other hand, he knows you’re pregnant and the rigors you’ll endure. Long sea voyage, strange land, all that.’

‘I don’t like being forced into anything,’ Fisk said, staring at the maps before him.

‘Welcome to the service of the greatest empire known to mankind,’ Cornelius said.

‘Neither do I, my love,’ Livia said, touching Fisk’s hand. Her neck was straight, and firm, but her eyes bore the pain of coming separation. ‘I swore never to return there. The mark on my name—’ Her voice grew thick and she stopped speaking.

‘Secundus will take care of that, darling—’ Cornelius said.

‘So we jump to this fiddler’s tune, is that it?’ Fisk asked.

‘That’s the shape of things,’ Cornelius said.

‘Damnation.’

‘Exactly.’