Chapter 17: Conversation With a Cop

Gryllos had thought the night that the Gamelin came to tell him that he was to command the Heavy Weapons Company was the most exciting moment of his life, but this day was the same thing over again, only ten fold more than the other.

He'd been having lunch with his officers when a messenger handed him written orders. "I'm sorry, sir, you have to read them quickly, then I'm to take them on to the next commander," Gryllos had been told.

He read the two short paragraphs, and then reread them again, before handing the sheet back to the messenger. "We will begin at once, of course," he told the corporal. The corporal saluted and started to leave.

"Corporal, what is this about?"

"They didn't tell me, sir. Just that I'm to see all the commanders in the barracks and give them the same orders."

The messenger was gone then, in a hurry to reach his next stop. Gryllos looked at his officers, all of whom were curious. "Tell the men they have a finger-width to finish eating. They have another finger-width to assemble their gear. All of their gear. We are leaving the barracks and may never return.

"The third finger-width, I want all of the fireseed, mortar shells, all of our logistics, every last bit, loaded in as few wagons as we can fit them in. Detail men to gather the horses and load the wagons. Only one driver per wagon, however.

"When that is done, the men will assemble with their personal weapons, a combat load of fireseed and shot, and the mortar sections will carry their mortars. A palm-width, gentleman! We should be moving in a palm-width."

"Where are we going?" the senior aide asked.

Gryllos grinned. "Tecpan."

"Why?" the hapless lieutenant asked.

"Lieutenant, use your imagination. Why do you think we're leaving the barracks, outside the walls, and hustling inside the walls with everything we've got?"

The young man paled, as did some of the others. Then there was work to do and they did it.

Two of the mounted infantry companies were marching towards the city before the Heavy Weapons Company joined them, but they carried four times the gear and supplies than the mounted infantry did.

Inside the gate, a harried logistos conferred with a man that Gryllos recognized as the Alcalde, the headman of the city. In a few heartbeats Gryllos and his men were marching again. This time they went to a long wall of apartments that abutted the southern city wall.

Then came the real work. They were to camp on top of the building, which was some two hundred yards long and about ten yards wide. "Try," the logistos had told him, "to keep your men in two thirds of the area. I want to billet the Special Intelligence Unit up there as well."

So, the men were going to be tightly packed. Worse, there was no way to pitch tents on the roof, because it was made of baked bricks. In fact, Gryllos had grave doubts how long the bricks would stand up under men continually coming and going.

A palm-width later Gamelin appeared, riding his huge black, filthy-mean gelding. "Captain!"

Gryllos hurried to him and saluted.

"For now, you must simply obey your orders, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!"

"You have the wagons parked here in the street with your ammunition and fireseed."

"Yes, sir."

"Unload it, pile it up against the apartments, but don't block the doorways. Then cover it up with tentage and post guards."

"Yes, sir."

"Send men back to the barracks with the horses and bring back any wagon you can find. You are authorized to requisition any wagon you can lay your hands on. Don't fight with other units requisitioning them, as there will be others. Bring them here as well."

Gamelin waved at the apartment block. "Start men breaking up the wagons, assign forty or fifty or so to the duty. You can switch them off with the digging party. Cover the roof of the apartments with planks."

"Yes, sir! How many wagons are we to dismantle?"

"For right now, any that you can lay your hands on.

"I want every other man in the company, including the officers, out in the street here. You will dig a latrine pit, three feet wide, six feet deep and as long as the apartment building down the middle of the street, centered on it. You will also cover it with planks when the digging is finished. Set up the shit holes at either end, one for men, one for women. Leave a couple of larger holes in the middle. They also have to be covered, but easy to open."

"Yes, sir."

"Last, but not least, I want you to ask the truly impossible from your soldiers. They aren't to talk about why they are doing what they are doing. They aren't to speculate at all."

Gryllos grimaced. That was going to be easy enough to order, but impossible to enforce.

"Oh, and senior officer's call at dawn, in the Council room." He saluted and cantered off.

"Yes, sir," Gryllos said to his superior's back.

He put the best of his lieutenants on the detail to bring back more wagons, and considering his orders, asked them to grab any shovel that wasn't nailed down. Then men were assigned to unloading wagons, then breaking them up.

It was hot, heavy work, and when they'd finished, he truly hated his next orders, which were to start on the latrine pit. He had six mortar batteries of ten guns each; he set the men from three batteries to work at each end of the pit, then divided the infantry in two and set them, back to back in the middle, working towards the others.

He seriously regretted that the Mortar brothers weren't there, seriously regretted that Sergeant Hollar was with one of the batteries in the field with the Countess.

For the first time he realized that it was virtually certain that something had happened to Lady Judy's column. He swallowed, and at the first sign of his men starting to flag, he played his trump card. "Men, they haven't said why, and we're not supposed to ask questions. But the Countess is counting on Heavy Weapons Company to lead the way. To do what we're ordered, as quickly as we can."

The men worked harder, and if he heard occasional snatches of conversation speculating about what was going on, he let it go. Most of the speculation was about an imminent attack, but he wasn't sure.

If Lady Judy was in trouble, Count Gamelin would have every man and women in the army preparing to go to her rescue. Every man and woman in the army was busy, but it wasn't a rescue they were working on.

Two palm-widths later the Mexicotal began to return from the fields. He wasn't sure what had been said to them, but they joined in working on the latrine ditch without being asked. Gryllos cast an eye on the ditch. That was a lot of volume! If he remembered the stuff he'd learned about field latrines, this ditch alone could take care of every man, woman and child in the city for a moon. And it was clear this was just one of many being built around the city.

What kind of siege do you spend your first palm-widths digging latrines for?

Later a heavily laden wagon appeared, with two logistos sergeants aboard. "Captain Gryllos! Ten kettles!" the senior of the pair announced. "Sir, have your men take ten kettles. They are to be positioned, two at each end of the latrine, two more at each of the three entrances to the apartments. Sir, you must detail a party of your men, and such civilians as you require, to fetch water from the main fountain in the city square and only that fountain.

"The kettles are to be kept full of water at all times. You will station three men at each kettle, all day and all night. No one may leave the latrines without washing their hands in boiled water, commencing at sundown tonight. Tonight you will fire warning shots at any who refuse. Tomorrow at High Sun, you will shoot to kill."

"And what are we to use for fuel?" Gryllos asked.

"Anything that will burn, that isn't needed for combat operations. The civilians will be asked to contribute anything made of wood for the fires. When you run out of wood," he waved at the temporary rope corral Gryllos had set up for the horses. "Dried horse dung, dried cow dung. Not human waste."

"Thank you, Sergeant."

The man stared at him for a second and Gryllos nodded. He'd already figured it out, finally. There had been a time when every army in the world would have known instantly what the precautions meant. But the High King had changed that.

They exchanged salutes and Gryllos turned and looked over the company. He hadn't done any of the work these men had, yet he felt just as weary as they did. He gathered up two of his battery lieutenants and gave one orders to fetch water, the second to set up a guard rotation on the kettles.

It was clear that most of the men had figured out what was going on. There was a nervousness that would ripple through them, then someone would say something quiet, grip and an arm or shoulder, and then the ripples would die away.

At dawn he was at the officer's call and heard Count Gamelin explain in great detail. They'd been told to take notes, and that Lady Lydia was preparing written instructions as well, as fast as men could copy the required orders.

Gamelin explained to the officers, explained their particular roles, which was to keep order in an area about a quarter of a mile on a side. There was a mounted infantry company of about five hundred men also assigned.

The first cases of plague came three days later. By then, everyone knew the story and they took the matter seriously, but as calmly as they could.

After that, day-by-day, the situation grew steadily worse. Almost at once everyone had seen what the plague did to you. Yet, almost as quickly, it was clear that if you were treated, you had a good chance of survival. It took a few more days for it to sink in that while that held true for healthy adults, it didn't for young children or the very old.

At first some of the civilians helped treat the sick, then too many of them were sick themselves and soldiers took up the load, until they too fell ill. Gryllos did everything his soldiers did, he had no idea how he avoided getting sick. Galzar or Dralm was looking over him, he suspected. Jumper got sick, but the Ruthani boy was like a steel spring. His worst symptoms lasted barely three palm-widths and went away.

His older aide... well, Gryllos hadn't had that much respect for the young man before, but the young man fought an epic battle against the disease, surprising every man in the company when he was still alive come each sunrise. Long before he was safely past the worst, men would come and help care for him, on their own free time.

Slowly, slowly, after a moon things started to improve. Hardly any more were falling sick; most of those sick were recovering. There were quite a few dead, in a city with more than two hundred and fifty thousand people crammed into it, and there was no doubt that the deaths of so many children had seriously hurt a great many people.

The most important thing, Gryllos thought one day, sitting near the main gate, watching the traffic flow past him, was that the city was together like it never had been. When they'd thrown off the God-King, they'd been united, but still, the soldiers of Hostigos were from afar, and even though they'd fought together, in truth the God-King's generals had worked to defeat themselves harder than the people had.

Now, they were as one. Soldiers and civilians alike had labored for days under appalling conditions. There had been days where an entire battery of men would fall sick in a span of a few palm-widths. Throw in the townsmen falling sick as well and it had made for long, long days for those who stayed on their feet.

He heard mutters and curses, a few shouts, and looked up. The famous carriage he'd seen and heard about was leaving the city. Captain Legios was in it, so was Sergeant Hollar, a woman Gryllos didn't recognize and a woman he did... the one people were shouting angry imprecations at. Maya, the traitor. For the life of him, he couldn't begin to imagine why she was still alive, much less why she was leaving the city.

Gamelin sighed as the priest of Dralm helped him sit up. They brought him a thin beef soup, even though his body cried out for more food, something solid. The one time he'd chewed some jerky, though, he'd spent another day in agony as his insides turned inside out once more. Slow and steady, the priests told him and Gamelin could only nod; that last time had been close, very close.

Judy came in and planted a kiss on his cheek. "You live dangerously, lady wife!"

She shook her head. "I have an iron constitution, husband. The question is, do you?"

"Of course!"

"It has come time that we must talk, even though the priests say it is a bad idea."

"Talking is something I can do," he tried to reassure her. He'd been one of the first to fall ill and he was one of the last to recover. It wasn't a distinction he was ever going to look back on and smile about.

"That's good. Are you sure you're a strong enough to stand another pretty solid shock?"

"No, I don't want any more jerky. I may never eat jerky again."

She dipped into her dress and pulled out a mirror, but held it away from him. "This isn't going to be the easy, Gamelin. But, while it looks bad, it's nothing."

"What looks bad?" he asked.

Silently, she held the mirror before her and he looked into it. He swallowed hard. "Holy Dralm! I'm older than my father!"

He grinned at her, trying to think of a joke, something like Tuck would say. "How long was I asleep again?"

"Of those who have the fever for more than a few days, this happens to about one in a hundred. It's not something Tuck, the High King or I have heard about, but Tuck, at least, says that sometimes it happened on the battlefield. The only thing that has changed, Gamelin, is your hair color."

"It's snow white! Even my father has some color left in his!"

"Well, now you and he can tell old people jokes together. There is more important news."

He sighed. "How many died?"

"Here, we held solid, Gamelin. We had two hundred and sixty-one thousand five hundred and eighty-two souls in the city when the plague came. We lost nearly two thousand children below six years, another thousand of the elderly over sixty -- and less than a thousand between those ages. Four thousand two hundred and sixty all told.

"Currently we have about seventy-five thousand refugees outside the walls. There were ninety thousand of them; one in four died. Of our lands, most towns and cities did well, including Xipototec and Zimapan."

"And Zimapan's siege?"

"Broken, which is part of the larger picture.

"The Olmecha have been destroyed. Perhaps half or two thirds died in the plague. The fabric of society broke down, and even more died of starvation and in the fighting that followed. There was a three- or four-way civil war going on at one time. Part of it is still going on. From Zacateca south, perhaps twenty million still live. They are sick, they are hungry, and there's still fighting going on, but not very hard."

"King Xyl?"

"He survived. You and he can compare your new hair style."

Gamelin grimaced.

"As you knew before the plague, Lady Maya was Xyl's youngest sister. Lydia convinced me we should send her back to Xyl. Xyl moved in a lot of soldiers and their dependants into Zacateca a moon ago. There were probably less than a hundred people left alive in the city, he reported."

Gamelin contemplated that and looked at his wife. "We wanted to buy time. We never wanted to fight them, but we couldn't live with the sacrifices. Xyl ended those, so really, there was nothing to fight about."

"And now there is no fight with King Xyl at all; he's agreed to a cease-fire."

"How long?"

"Two years."

Gamelin whistled softly. "Now that's what I call a cease-fire!"

"Gamelin, the plague was deliberate."

Gamelin paled, his hands twisted the sheet he was lying under. The fabric tore, weak as he was. "Let's end the cease-fire and go clean him out! Let's end this once and for all!"

"It wasn't Xyl, and he understands it wasn't us. You heard the reports that the High King has been sending ships across the Great Eastern Ocean, right?"

"To a less than friendly reception."

"Xyl heard about it, so he started sending his own ships out. The first one that came back had a 'representative' of a far distant king. That man had the plague. Xyl is sure that it was done deliberately. For what it's worth, both Tuck and the High King agree."

"And we thought Styphon's scum were bad! That... millions and millions of dead! A whole people destroyed!"

"Yes. The plague has burned out here, at least for now, but it will almost certainly continue spreading north. Outpost, the Ruthani, the Zarthani and Hostigos will all suffer from it. They have prepared and the experience we've gained will succor them greatly in their hour of need. They're showing their appreciation by sending us a lot of goods we'd not normally have been able to afford. Horse drawn mills, grindstones... all sorts of things... except people, of course.

He nodded.

"We have the time we needed to get set to fight King Xyl. Except that it's not very likely we will have to. He had a lot to do, fighting his first revolt. Now, he has to fend off several revolts, plus regain control of his lands. His lands have been depopulated -- he thinks that less than one in ten still lives."

"I understand. It's like the first war, really. We killed so many of them... it seemed unreal. It didn't seem possible, yet I saw many of the bodies after the battles. Now, we've won another victory, even if it cost far, far more than the first time. But not much less than we expected."

"Well, a couple of things. The plague hasn't reached Chalpai and the troops besieging Zimapan in the south got the word about what to do to fight the plague in plenty of time. They are weak, but their formations survive.

"King Xyl has petitioned the High King to allow the quarter million men north of Zimapan to march south without hindrance. If we permit that, he'll pull the bulk of his forces south of Zimapan back to Zacateca as well.

"He is having tremendous logistical problems feeding those men. He has made the case that it would be to our benefit to feed them while they are still in the north, so that if the logistics completely collapses, it well be well south of our lands. Tentatively, Tuck has agreed. We're still waiting on the High King's approval, but I imagine he'll agree."

"Those men north of Zimapan will get sick," Gamelin observed.

"Yes, and the soldiers south of the city will take care of them when they do."

Gamelin realized the point Judy had been assiduously avoiding. "Great Galzar! We're going to keep more than a half million of Xyl's soldiers alive! That's more than we've got in our army!"

"Yes. Like I say, we're taking it slow and the High King is signing off on everything. Gamelin, trust me on this. While I haven't talked to Xyl or the rest of his family personally about this, my people have. He has three goals right now. Saving his people and his soldiers, saving his kingdom... and sailing east with every ship he can put his hands on and visiting total destruction on those who did this to his people."

Gamelin sagged back. "Galzar's Mace! If I was feeling better, I think I'd join him!"

To his surprise, Judy nodded. "We'll be able to keep casualties to a minimum in our lands, but that minimum is going to mean tens of thousands dead; a disproportionate number of those young children and family elders.

"Gamelin, the people here held a protest. Lydia organized it and it was very orderly, but it was the parents of dead children. They want the war with Xyl over, so they can go east and kill the bastards who killed their kids."

Gamelin nodded, his mind racing.

"So, something extraordinary is going to happen. In three moons the High King is coming here, along with King Freidal, Tuck and you and I. There will be a smattering of the senior nobles of the affected kingdoms. Tuck thinks that southern Zarthan and Outpost will get hit this winter with the plague, Xiphlon next spring, with more of Zarthan. Anyone who comes here is not going to be permitted north of the plague line, not if they've been sick."

Gamelin smiled at Judy. "Lady wife, you, Lady Lydia, and Duke Tuck have done so much! And here I lay, barely able to sit up."

"Yeah, well, Tuck says if you're not doing anything else, you can think. There's a big debate right now. Some people want the kings and nobles to come with a lot of soldiers in their escort. Except, that's going to mean a lot of sick people, plus those men are going to have to stay south for a while.

"Thus, there are those who think they should travel with relatively small retinues."

It was on Gamelin's lips to say he'd opt for the small retinues, wishing the sickness on no man, that and where was the threat?

The answer to that were the ongoing plots against Zarthan. And what about the plot that had laid waste to heartlands and wrecked ruin on Mexico? Who was fighting King Xyl?

Judy nodded, recognizing that he understood. "Yeah, the plots. You don't know the half of it."

"What?"

"You remember my trip towards Zacateca? Where I was ambushed?"

"It would be hard to forget that."

"Yes, well, it was General Cambon up there on that ridge, along with General Thanos. The reason they didn't attack? Not what we thought at all. Cambon thought it was a trick, not believing I would walk into such a trap. You see the traitors weren't working for him. In fact, he found their camp when he came down the hill after me. They were all dead, not a mark on them."

Gamelin shook his head. This was awful! Someone plotting against the High King, Zarthan, Mexico, and it sounded like, King Xyl all at once? That was insane!

"And, get this. You remember the wagon convoy that was ambushed?"

"Yes, the one where the wagon guards and the Hostigi Sixth Mounted beat them rather handily."

"With an assist from the Ruthani, don't forget. Well, while Xyl wasn't King for that, he was commander of their army. He never ordered the attack, had no knowledge of it until afterwards. The commander at Huspai ordered it. And when he was recalled to discuss it, he was found dead... poisoned apparently. At any rate, there wasn't a mark on his body."

Gamelin felt weak and tired; the priests had been right, this was really more tiring than he would have imagined. He smiled wanly. "I need to sleep, Judy. I'm so tired..." The world once again faded away and he slept.

He missed Judy turning to Lydia. "It was too much."

Lydia shook her head. "Judy, Gamelin is a fine man, but even fine men would be unhappy to find out that they've been spoon-fed the news piecemeal to 'protect' them."

"I suppose. He's a stubborn bastard, when he wants to be."

Lydia grinned. "Wait until the first time he goes outside and people on the street salute him, like they do the other White Hairs."

Judy sounded frustrated. "I've developed a keen appreciation in the last three years of exactly how easy it is to start new legends."

"Yes, plus you've developed a talent for telling people what to do and getting them to do it that I would never have expected. We were three equals, once upon a time. I have to wonder how we would have fared, if we'd stayed home."

"Well, for one thing, you wouldn't get to play Secret Agent, I expect."

"Probably not. But, hey, consider the upside. He's going to have a little while to get used to the idea that we're talking to King Xyl. Wait until he finds out who Legios' nurse is! If he thinks he's confused now, he'll be walking around in circles muttering after that."

Judy had to smile, because she knew Gamelin well, and he was going to walk around in circles, muttering when he heard that news!

Tanda woke, aware that something was different in their bedchamber. She listened with her ears; she watched with her eyes, her every sense attuned to the moment. She turned her head and saw an undraped female form standing in a glow of moonlight six feet from the bed.

She quietly nudged Tuck, while watching the other woman carefully. Even as Tuck placed his hand on her shoulder, Tanda's brain etched a border around the woman's face, and then hung the portrait on a wall. The wall was Manistewa's private office at Outpost and the woman's portrait was a few feet from her husband's: Chief of the Paratime Police, Verkan Vall.

"Lady Dalla," Tanda said softly. "I don't think we've had the pleasure."

"I wasn't sure if you'd recognize me."

"If you'd put some clothes on, perhaps Tuck will recognize you, too. At the moment, I think he's drooling and paying only marginal attention to your face."

Tuck leaned down and lightly nipped Tanda's shoulder.

"I'm just shilling for Verkan; if a man popped into your bedroom late at night, we weren't sure of your response. I was supposed to make you think." She looked at Tuck and chuckled. "I do believe I've accomplished that with your husband, Tanda Havra."

She took a step out of the light and faded from view. Verkan Vall replaced her.

Tanda waved him forward. "Good evening, sir. It was my understanding that we were done with this."

"I know. However, these are times that try police chief's patience. Please, may I say a few words? If you'd hear me out, it will be most valuable."

"Why aren't you talking to Kalvan?"

"That's part of the problem. You haven't heard it yet, but three times in the last two days there have been attempts on his life. Twice they were clumsy, the other wasn't, but trying to lift a fireseed weapon against the High King in a crowd is a very dangerous thing. Once again his people have saved his life."

"As he's saved theirs," Tuck said evenly.

"Yes. Let's just say his bedchambers aren't as private as they once were. Yours still are. Even Freidal..." The police chief shook his head. "They tried for him a moon ago."

"They tried for Elspeth," Tuck corrected him.

"Yes, I suppose. I doubt if they'd have minded if the King had died, though. Still, this is important and there's not a lot of time.

"Tanda Havra. When you returned to Outpost with Lieutenant Gamelin's patrol, you heard a litany of failures concerning why you weren't warned."

Tanda sniffed. "I'm not from Home Time Line; I understood well enough."

"No, you're not, but you don't understand as much as you think. I lost six Paracops, Tanda Havra, plus two of your university co-workers. We found that the man in Zarthan had been stealing money and faking his spy reports. The man in charge at Outpost had malfunctioning equipment he didn't wish to report.

"At the time, in my arrogance, I was satisfied with that. It's taken two years for me to realize, like Alros of Zarthan, I was too hasty in my judgments. Now, I've put two hundred of my finest detectives into Zarthan. I came back and led a dozen more here.

"The plots..." Tuck said, inhaling audibly.

"Yes. Your plots... our plots." He turned to Tanda Havra. "Wizard Traders."

She blinked. "I don't understand."

"Well, once upon a time you received a briefing, with key words and key events that would have triggered your recall of information about the Wizard Traders. I was a little curious why they weren't triggered when you found out about Tuck and his people.

"Your conditioning is on file. It was tampered with. It's not obvious, but a good scan of the data shows it. We are now in the process of checking every Paracop's and field agent's conditioning. Everyone in the psych department is currently under arrest, although nearly two dozen died within moments of being arrested. Does that sound familiar?"

"Of course," Tuck said.

"When I went to find the scholar who had been here, I found he'd been 'routinely' transferred. The paperwork has been lost as to exactly where. We're checking, but I suspect he's long gone."

"And the scholar in Zarthan?" Tuck asked.

"I was there, personally, do you understand? I'd lost a half dozen men and women. When I found out the basic facts on the ground, I accepted them, had the man frog-marched to the nearest wall and shot at once."

He looked bleak. "That was one of the few times I've used the extra-judicial powers granted to me. And now, bitterly, I've learned my lesson. Never again. I suspect it would have resulted in the man's death or escape, but I will never again fail to ask about everything in an interrogation."

"Chief, why didn't I get sick during the plague? Why didn't my son?" Tanda asked.

He looked her right in the eye. "It's the policy of the Paracops to make sure that our people are vaccinated. You are still ours, and by extension, your son is ours. You weren't told, but you were given the vaccine."

It took Tuck's full strength to keep a grip on Tanda as she tried to lunge at the man from so very far away. Far, in every sense of the word.

"You could have saved our people? And you did nothing?" Tanda's scream was primal anguish.