too sweet for table. But I’ve found a mountain vintage from this village in the Oxheads . . .”
CHAPTER SIX
The City Offices of Sandoral were nearly as crowded as the barracks, although they smelled of musty paper and lamp-soot and ink rather than sewage and dogshit. Clerks in knee breeches and dirty ruffled shirts were running in all directions, waving papers in the air; abacuses clicked; wheeled carts full of folders of documents rumbled over the tiled floors of the corridors. There were petitioners in plenty about, too. The clamor died as Raj shouldered through; the forty troopers of the 5th tramping behind him with their rifles at port, bayonets fixed, were a stark reminder of why Sandoral was in an emergency in the first place.
Raj strongly suspected that most of the bureaucrats would continue to think of it as a tiresome interruption of routine right up until the Settler’s troops came over the wall.
Civilization, he thought sourly, watching one man blink at him through thick lenses, fingers pausing on the counting stones. The sacred trust I defend. The reason I obey purblind idiots.
They clattered up a broad stairway; the upper corridor was considerably less crowded, a condition enforced by several slope-browed men with cudgels. All of whom sensibly faded into doorways at the sight of the naked steel and harsh uniform clatter of hobnails.
“You can’t go in there! That’s Chief Commissioner Kirmedez’s—”
“Siddown,” M’lewis snarled at the functionary. The man sat.
Kirmedez looked up from his desk as Raj entered. He was a thin dark man with receding hair, dressed plainly with a simple cravat. His eyes widened slightly as he took in Raj and the soldiers behind him; he rose and bowed.
“Heneralissimo,” he said politely. “How may I serve you?”
Raj took the measure of the man. Honest, he thought, for a wonder.
oversimplification, Center said, but a valid approximation. A grid snapped onto the administrator’s face, with mottled patterns showing heat and the dilation of his pupils. proceed.
It was impossible to lie to Raj Whitehall . . . with an angel looking out through his eyes. He didn’t like it, but it was useful, and he’d use any tool to get the job done.
Anything at all.
“Messer Kirmedez,” Raj said, “Sandoral will be under siege by the Colonials within two weeks maximum. Possibly less.”
Kirmedez sat and tapped the piles of documents on his desk. “Heneralissimo , this city cannot stand siege. We’re grossly over-crowded, and the grain reserves are low.”
Raj nodded. By law, a fortified border town like this was supposed to keep a year’s reserve of basic foodstuffs, in return for remission of some taxes. He didn’t need to ask what had happened to it.
“Exactly, Messer. I’m therefore evacuating all civilians to East Residence.”
Kirmedez’s hard thin face went fluid with shock for an instant. “That’s impossible.”
Raj allowed himself a flat smile. “On the contrary. Anyone who leaves on their own feet—or on dogback or in a carriage or by ox wagon—can take whatever they wish to carry. But whenever a troop train gets in, and I expect them at four-hour intervals, the garrison is going to sweep up enough people to fill it for the return trip. There will be absolutely no exceptions. Messer Commissioner, you’d also better inform the citizens immediately, because the first twelve hundred will be leaving in about two hours on the train that brought me. Is that understood?”
Kirmedez closed his mouth. He stared at Raj for a full thirty seconds, then looked at the feral faces of the Descotter gunmen behind him.
“You mean it,” he said softly.
“I’m not in the habit of making empty threats, Messer,” Raj said, equally quiet.
Kirmedez nodded.
The door was open, and the word had spread swiftly. A roar sounded through the offices, shading up into a hysterical wail. Kirmedez rose and reached for a brass bell on his desk, but Raj put out one
CHAPTER SIX
The City Offices of Sandoral were nearly as crowded as the barracks, although they smelled of musty paper and lamp-soot and ink rather than sewage and dogshit. Clerks in knee breeches and dirty ruffled shirts were running in all directions, waving papers in the air; abacuses clicked; wheeled carts full of folders of documents rumbled over the tiled floors of the corridors. There were petitioners in plenty about, too. The clamor died as Raj shouldered through; the forty troopers of the 5th tramping behind him with their rifles at port, bayonets fixed, were a stark reminder of why Sandoral was in an emergency in the first place.
Raj strongly suspected that most of the bureaucrats would continue to think of it as a tiresome interruption of routine right up until the Settler’s troops came over the wall.
Civilization, he thought sourly, watching one man blink at him through thick lenses, fingers pausing on the counting stones. The sacred trust I defend. The reason I obey purblind idiots.
They clattered up a broad stairway; the upper corridor was considerably less crowded, a condition enforced by several slope-browed men with cudgels. All of whom sensibly faded into doorways at the sight of the naked steel and harsh uniform clatter of hobnails.
“You can’t go in there! That’s Chief Commissioner Kirmedez’s—”
“Siddown,” M’lewis snarled at the functionary. The man sat.
Kirmedez looked up from his desk as Raj entered. He was a thin dark man with receding hair, dressed plainly with a simple cravat. His eyes widened slightly as he took in Raj and the soldiers behind him; he rose and bowed.
“Heneralissimo,” he said politely. “How may I serve you?”
Raj took the measure of the man. Honest, he thought, for a wonder.
oversimplification, Center said, but a valid approximation. A grid snapped onto the administrator’s face, with mottled patterns showing heat and the dilation of his pupils. proceed.
It was impossible to lie to Raj Whitehall . . . with an angel looking out through his eyes. He didn’t like it, but it was useful, and he’d use any tool to get the job done.
Anything at all.
“Messer Kirmedez,” Raj said, “Sandoral will be under siege by the Colonials within two weeks maximum. Possibly less.”
Kirmedez sat and tapped the piles of documents on his desk. “Heneralissimo , this city cannot stand siege. We’re grossly over-crowded, and the grain reserves are low.”
Raj nodded. By law, a fortified border town like this was supposed to keep a year’s reserve of basic foodstuffs, in return for remission of some taxes. He didn’t need to ask what had happened to it.
“Exactly, Messer. I’m therefore evacuating all civilians to East Residence.”
Kirmedez’s hard thin face went fluid with shock for an instant. “That’s impossible.”
Raj allowed himself a flat smile. “On the contrary. Anyone who leaves on their own feet—or on dogback or in a carriage or by ox wagon—can take whatever they wish to carry. But whenever a troop train gets in, and I expect them at four-hour intervals, the garrison is going to sweep up enough people to fill it for the return trip. There will be absolutely no exceptions. Messer Commissioner, you’d also better inform the citizens immediately, because the first twelve hundred will be leaving in about two hours on the train that brought me. Is that understood?”
Kirmedez closed his mouth. He stared at Raj for a full thirty seconds, then looked at the feral faces of the Descotter gunmen behind him.
“You mean it,” he said softly.
“I’m not in the habit of making empty threats, Messer,” Raj said, equally quiet.
Kirmedez nodded.
The door was open, and the word had spread swiftly. A roar sounded through the offices, shading up into a hysterical wail. Kirmedez rose and reached for a brass bell on his desk, but Raj put out one
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