A Conflict of Orders (An Age of Discord Novel Book 2) (67 page)

Rinharte said, “Lieutenant Rinharte reporting for duty, sir,” and, once Sharazhka had turned about, she bowed to him. One week ago, she had been this man’s senior—although captain of
Tinapon Archipelago
, he carried the rank of lieutenant-commander and he’d not held the rank as long as Rinharte had.

Sharazhka looked her up and down, his face expressionless. He was, Rinharte was gratified to note, neither a dandy nor a martinet. His uniform had not been improved by a tailor, he did not wear a sword and his demeanour suggested competence rather than discipline. His features were stern, but otherwise unremarkable: skin darker than her own, a heavy nose, square jaw and undisciplined eyebrows.

“I did not want you aboard my ship,” he said. His voice was rough and coloured by an accent Rinharte could not place. “I was happy with my previous signals lieutenant and I certainly had no desire to take on any of Captain Shutan’s mutineers.”

Rinharte said nothing. The three rateds in the Pilothouse kept their expressions studiously neutral.

“You were her lieutenant of intelligence I understand. You are fortunate I have a good petty officer in the Signals House. She will see you are brought up to speed. At the very least you must be competent, or you would not have been aboard
Imperial Respite
. But I will not have your damned politics on this ship and you will forget everything you did before coming aboard her. Am I clear?”

“Sir,” said Rinharte.

“Good.” He gave a terse nod. “We will not be departing until the morrow. You have a day to get your department in order. Dismissed.”

She gave another bow and turned about to descend the ladder.

“Oh, Lieutenant Rinharte, it is the practice aboard this ship for the department heads to join me in my cabin each day at noon for lunch. It is not a social event. I expect you to have something to tell me about the running of the Signals Distribution Centre.”

As the captain spoke, Rinharte stared through the hatch to the deck below. She could see little, just the corner of a plotting table. She felt dismay. Sharazhka had just given her two hours to learn the ins and outs of her department.

“Sir,” she said again.

“You may go.”

She clambered down the ladder, increasing her pace with each deck until she reached the Signals Distribution Centre. This time, she halted. She saw a petty officer and a pair of rateds. She approached the petty officer.

“Petty Officer Shingo, ma’am,” the woman identified herself.

Looking at Shingo, Rinharte was reminded of Mahzan, the artificer aboard
Tempest
who had found, and operated, the troop-transport’s hidden main gun. Shingo was more than a decade older than Rinharte, dark-skinned, weather-beaten and extremely thin. She was as tall as Rinharte herself. Her hair was cut close to a narrow skull which seemed strangely sleeker than normal. There was no physical resemblance between the
Tempest
artificer and this woman, but Shingo had the same air of unassuming ability and dependability that Mahzan had possessed.

“Ms Shingo,” said Rinharte, with what she hoped was the right degree of command, lightened by approachability, “what do I need to know for the captain’s lunch? If you could give me a quick tour, it would be most appreciated. Afterwards, I’d like to go through the personnel dockets of all the members of the department. And if you could get me those of the other department heads, I’d be most grateful. Oh, and I’ll need a copy of the signals log too, if you please, going back to the day
Tinapon Archipelago
arrived in orbit.”

Shingo’s expression did not change.

“Now then,” said Rinharte, “let’s get started.”

T
he lunchtime crowd had left and only a handful of drinkers remained in the pub. They’d probably remain there all afternoon. Azeel’s father shooed her from behind the bar, telling her gruffly to go and make something to eat for herself and Ormuz.

After placing the empty glasses he carried on the bar-top, Ormuz followed Azeel up the stairs to the flat. His duties were limited to collecting empty glasses and cleaning.

“Shouldn’t you have been at work today?” he asked her as they entered the kitchen. It had just occurred to him.

She set about fetching food from various cupboards. “I’m on holiday,” she replied. “From today. I’ve took some of my paid leave. Just for a couple of days, though.” She looked back over her shoulder and smiled at him. “Just until we’ve got you sorted.”

“I suppose I should look for a job soon.” Ormuz fingered the escutcheon on his collar. He had access to as many crowns as he needed using that coat of arms, but he’d sooner earn money of his own.

“If you think you should,” Azeel said absently. “Now let me make lunch. Go and watch a news channel or something.” She gestured him away.

Halfway across the landing to the living-room, Ormuz stopped and glanced back at the kitchen doorway. He felt…
domestic
. This moment was so unremarkably normal, it reminded him of his childhood years on Rasamra. He had loved his parents unconditionally then, had believed they
were
his parents. The clear and certain knowledge he was not their son came later; as did the resentment. But he remembered those years of happiness and he had just felt an echo of those years touch him now.

He entered the living-room and dropped onto one of the settees. He felt himself a part of this place, written into its history—and into its future. He took special pleasure in the feeling. His thoughts turned to Azeel. The Admiral was hard but Azeel was soft; the Admiral was commanding but Azeel was merely bossy. He and Azeel had shared a bed the last two nights—her bed, as it was a double, unlike the one he used in the spare room. She was very different from the Admiral there, too. He bore no scars, which proved it.

He rose to his feet, crossed to the glass and turned it on before he embarrassed himself by dwelling too much on the physical side of his relationship with Azeel. He clicked idly through a few channels before finding one that broadcast only news. It was a proletarian channel, but never mind. He returned to the settee.

The glass suddenly went black. Worried, Ormuz sat forward. Had it broken?

A voice intoned, “There now follows an announcement by the Imperial Bureau of Promulgation.”

The screen cleared to show a dark-haired woman sitting on an ornate chair in a large hall. Richly-dressed people lined a black carpet leading up to her.

“Inni!” called Ormuz. “You’d better come and see this.”

The camera panned forward and the woman grew larger. Now her face filled the glass. With a sinking heart, Ormuz recognised her.

The Admiral.

“Inni!” he called, more urgently.

She must be wearing a wig, he thought. She looked odd with hair, not at all like the person he knew, the woman he’d loved and left.

Azeel appeared in the doorway. “What is it?” she asked. “Did you break it?”

“No. He pointed at the glass. “Look. It’s the new Empress.”

Together, they watched the broadcast. Empress Flavia explained that her father had stepped down from the Imperial Throne due to ill-health. This condition had been brought on by the siege of the Imperial Palace by the rebel Duke of Ahasz. Empress Flavia hoped everyone would join her in wishing good health to her father. Although she had been away from Shuto for many years, loyally serving the Empire as an officer of the Imperial Navy, she knew she could rely on her advisors to assist her in the difficult times ahead. In truth, she believed her time in the Navy would be a boon to her reign as she had experienced at first hand so many different parts of the Empire. For now, there would be a short period of transition for the regnal government, and no doubt for the civil government too, but this was first and foremost a time for celebration. The official coronation would take place that night in the Old Palace. All subjects of the Empire on Shuto were encouraged to hold their own celebrations, and tomorrow would be a public holiday.

There was no mention of Prince Hubret, or his removal from the line of succession. Nothing about was said regarding the Admiral’s mutiny.

The glass faded to black.

“Well,
that
was interesting.”

Azeel’s hand had stolen into his during the broadcast. She pulled it free. “It’s not something you see every day,” she said, “but it’ll just be more work for us.”

He looked at her, puzzled.

She explained, “Where do you think most folk will want to celebrate?” She shook her head wryly. “We’re going to be busy tonight.”

“Is that all you can think of?” Ormuz demanded. “What about the fact that she’s on the Throne now?”

“‘She’? You say that like you know something about her I don’t, Cas.”

He snapped his mouth shut.

“She’s been gone a long time, fair enough,” Azeel continued. “But it’s not like much has changed for us over the years. Or even longer, if you look in the history books. I suppose she might make a few new laws, but it’s not like we’re all going to get a vote in the Electorate or anything.”

“She took the Throne by force.”

“No, she didn’t. She said her father is ill and he stepped down.”

Ormuz shook his head. “No, she told him to step down. He didn’t have any choice. Remember what Edkar I did when he came back from the War with the Baal?”

Of course she did. Every child in the Empire learnt it at school.

He continued, “She did the same. She turned up here with a massive fleet behind her. And an army. That’s how she lifted the siege and arrested Ahasz.”

Azeel frowned. “How do you know this, Cas?”

“I— um, someone told me.”

She smiled. “Well, there you go. Unless you were there yourself, you can’t know what happened. You’re just being silly and repeating rumours.”

“Remember the Oppie inspector who brought me
this
?” He took his collar and thrust his escutcheon at Azeel. “She was there, in the room when the Ad— the
Empress
told her father to step down.”

“I don’t see what difference it makes,” Azeel said with a shrug. “They could put a second cousin three times removed on the Throne and I’ll still have to pay taxes and Tithe.” She tapped her own escutcheon, pinned to the collar of the top she wore. “And wear this.”

“Don’t you think it’s important? She was a mutineer for six years and then she seized the Throne from her father.”

“Mutineer? She was in the Navy.”

“I went to Kukoi yesterday to see some friends in the Navy leave. They used to serve on the Empress’s battlecruiser. They’ve been demoted and sent to the Boundary Fleet.”

Azeel rose to her feet. Looking down at Ormuz, she said sadly, “Why are you doing this? You don’t need to tell tales to me. I know you came all the way to Shuto from some province weeks and weeks away, but just because you’re on Shuto now it doesn’t mean you can pretend to know everyone, even high nobles.”

Wearing an air of disappointment like a winter coat, Azeel left the room.

The door to the Empress Glorina banged open. Ormuz looked up from the table he was wiping down and frowned. His frown deepened when he saw the pair of men armed with maces in the doorway. They stepped into the pub and carefully scanned the room. A third man entered. He wore a sword.

The pub’s half a dozen customers stared at the three intruders.

A fourth figure swept inside: a woman, a very beautiful woman. From her dress alone, she was clearly noble—a jacket and trousers in red, a winged snake in gold thread embroidered on one lapel of the jacket, flimsy high-heeled shoes plainly unsuited for the outdoors. Ormuz put down his wet cloth and peeled the rubber gloves from his hands. He recognised the woman, although he had never met her before. She had hair of a dark lustrous red, and features of a familiar cast.

She crossed to the bar, seeming to glide, stopped and turned to gaze about the room. Her gaze swept past Ormuz, checked, then returned to him. She arched an eyebrow sardonically.

“You must be Casimir,” she said as she approached him. Her voice was low and musical.

“You must be Lady Mayna,” he replied. “Your ladyship.”

“Yes.” She turned to peer at her surroundings, then looked down at the cloth and gloves on the table behind Ormuz. “But what are you doing here? The hero of the hour, cleaning tables in some hovel in the city’s worst district.”

“I live here now, your ladyship. I’m with my equals.”

He saw Azeel enter the room and sidle behind the bar. Her eyes widened as she saw Lady Mayna.

“You can’t stay here, my dear. It’s not fitting.”

“Fitting for who? For a prole, it’s as good a place as any other.” He looked across at Azeel and added, “Better, in fact.”

Lady Mayna gestured dismissively. “I can’t have you staying here.”

“I don’t see how it affects you, your ladyship.”

“No?” She arched an eyebrow, reached out with one hand and carressed Ormuz’s cheek. “Casimir, you’re one of us. As soon as I had intelligence of your whereabouts, I had to come and rescue you.”

“I don’t need rescuing.”

“Of course you do. Come, let us go. No need to pack, we’ll get you everything you need.”

“Go? Where?”

“To my townhouse, of course. Why must you insist on being so obtuse? Really, Casimir. You are family and you belong among Vonshuans. All this unpleasantness over your status we will soon have cleared up.”

“They’ll never let you give me the duchy.”

“I don’t intend to give you the duchy. A new duke has already been chosen. But at the very least you’ll be living in the proper style while we petition to have you recognised.”

“Inni comes with me.”

“Who?”

“Inni.” He indicated Azeel behind the bar.

“Why?” Lady Mayna shrugged a shoulder elegantly. “Oh very well. Bring her.”

Ormuz left the marchioness and crossed to Azeel. He reached across the bar and took her hand. “Come on,” he said. “Time to pack.”

Upstairs in the room he shared with Azeel, Ormuz pulled his newly-bought clothes from the wardrobe and threw them carelessly onto on the bed. From the top-shelf of the closet, he pulled down a battered holdall. He began to bundle his clothing into the bag.