Through the Darkness

At last, any further delay would have been openly rude. Qutuz carried off the silver tray on which he’d brought in the refreshments. Suppressing a sigh, Hajjaj got down to business: “And how may I serve you, your Excellency?”

Iskakis leaned forward. His dark eyes bored into Hajjaj’s. “I want to know your view of the course of the war,” he said, his tone suggesting he would tear that view from Hajjaj if the foreign minister didn’t give it to him. Kaunians and Algarvians who shared his tastes would more likely than not have seemed effeminate. Instead, he affected an exaggerated masculinity. That was familiar to Hajjaj, for most Zuwayzi men who preferred their own sex did the same.

“My view?” Hajjaj said. “My view is as it has always been: that the war is a great tragedy, and I wish it had never begun. As for how it will turn out, I can only hope for the best.”

“The best being an Algarvian triumph,” Iskakis said, again sounding as if he might spring on Hajjaj if the Zuwayzi presumed to disagree.

“Algarve is a better neighbor for us than is Unkerlant, not least because Algarve is a more distant neighbor,” Hajjaj said.

“Not for us,” Iskakis said bitterly, and Hajjaj had to nod. Yanina lay sandwiched between Algarve and Unkerlant, an unenviable position if ever there was one. With a scowl, Iskakis went on, “Things are not so good down in the southwest.”

“I have heard this, aye.” Hajjaj had heard it from his own generals, from boasts by the Unkerlanters in the broadsheets they sometimes rained down on Zuwayzi soldiers, and from the Algarvian minister. Marquis Balastro had been profanely inventive in explaining that things had gone wrong north of Sulingen not least on account of Yaninan cowardice. Hajjaj wondered if Balastro had been as inventive--and as profane--to Iskakis’ face. He wouldn’t have been surprised.

“What are we to do if the Algarvians piss away all the victories they have won?” Iskakis demanded.

He said nothing about the Yaninan army’s part in the Algarvians’ misfortunes, but then he wouldn’t. No matter what he didn’t say, the question was good. Hajjaj answered, “What other choice would we have but to make the best terms we could with Unkerlant?”

Iskakis tapped the back of his neck. “This is what Swemmel would give us.” The gesture made Hajjaj sure the Yaninans used an axe or headsman’s sword to dispose of miscreants. The minister tapped again. “This if we were lucky. Otherwise, we would go into the stewpot.”

Hajjaj would have been happier had Iskakis been wrong. He would also have been happier had the Algarvians made more pleasant allies. He doubted Iskakis cared about Kaunians one way or the other. On the other hand, King Mezentio’s men undoubtedly had a much tighter grip on Yanina than they did on Zuwayza. Hajjaj said, “I have no easy answers for you. What else is there to do but ride the camel we mounted till it will go no farther?”

“Together, have we not enough power to stop this war?” Iskakis said.

“No,” Hajjaj said bluntly. “We can hurt Algarve, aye, but how likely is Swemmel to show proper gratitude?”

That got through. Iskakis grimaced. He said, “I shall pass your words on to my sovereign.” Before Hajjaj could have even raise a finger, the Yaninan minister added, “You may rest assured, I shall pass them carefully.”

“You had better,” Hajjaj said. Yaninans were good at intrigue, better than they were at war. But the Algarvians had to know their allies felt restive.

Iskakis got to his feet, bowed, and left as grandly as if his kingdom’s soldiers had won triumphs by the dozen instead of embarrassing themselves far and wide. Hajjaj was still pondering the report he would give to King Shazli when Qutuz came in and said, “Your Excellency, Marquis Balastro is fain to speak to you by crystal.”

“Is he?” Hajjaj was anything but fain to speak to the Algarvian minister, but no one had asked his opinion. Having no real choice, he said, “I’m coming.”

Formal manners and polite delays went over the side in conversations by crystal. Without preamble, Balastro demanded, “Well, what did the little bald bugger want from you?”

“My recipe for a camel’s-milk fondue,” Hajjaj replied blandly.

Balastro said something uncharitable about camels--young male camels-- and Iskakis. Then he said, “If Tsavellas stabs us in the back, Hajjaj, that doesn’t do you any good.”

“I never claimed it did,” Hajjaj replied. “But I also never said a word about what Iskakis discussed with me, nor do I intend to.”

“What else would a Yaninan talk about, especially when things have gone sour down in the south?” Balastro didn’t bother hiding his scorn.

“If you run low on Kaunians, perhaps you will be able to repair the front with the life energy you get from slaughtering the people of Patras or some other Yaninan town,” Hajjaj suggested, not in the least diplomatically.