The Mansions of Idumea (Book 3 Forest at the Edge series) (78 page)

The two women looked apprehensively at each
other, then turned to Colonel Shin and nodded.

“What’s your name?” Shin addressed Kuman’s
wife.

“Brittum,” she squeaked nervously.

Something about the vacant look in Perrin’s
bloodshot eyes made him appear even more terrible, Shem decided.
He’d squeak out any response Colonel Shin demanded of him, too.

“I’m sorry, Brittum,” Colonel Shin said
dully, “but we need to take a walk down to the cellars. Cush,
Zenos, will you help us get there?”

Brittum’s reddish-brown skin turned pale. She
looked at her sister-in-law, nodded slowly at the colonel, and
walked to the door.

Perrin stepped clumsily aside to let her pass
and swayed slightly. Cush followed to lead Brittum, while Shem put
his arm around Perrin to help keep him upright.

They passed the surgeon on their way down the
hall. He blinked several times at Perrin, who, by his calculations,
was supposed to still be sleeping.

“We may need your assistance in a few
moments, Doctor,” Perrin said, ignoring his surprised look. “Please
follow us.”

They made their way down to the cellar where
Perrin focused only on the three still forms on the other side of
the room, and not on the two coffins on the ground ready to receive
his parents.

Perrin’s prediction that the surgeon would be
needed was correct. When Brittum saw the first dead Guarder’s face,
darkened with soot, she screamed out her husband’s name. Shem
caught her as she collapsed, and carried her and her many skirts up
the stairs. By now he knew the way.

Ten minutes later Perrin and Shem sat in
their room after having delivered Brittum to her sister-in-law down
the hall. Both women were sedated to help “calm them down,” the
surgeon explained.

Perrin was agitated, not only by realizing
that Kuman had been in the mansion, but by what the surgeon did to
the women. He had protested their treatment, but to no avail.

“When they wake up, the pain of what they
feel is still there, Doctor. I know! The sedation doesn’t help
solve the heartache. It only postpones it. They don’t need to avoid
their grief; they need to face it—”

Shem had dragged him out of the women’s room
before the surgeon came after both of them with his suffocating
cloth. Now they sat in their room, staring just beyond each
other.

“The burial is in an hour. We should be
getting ready,” Shem hinted.

“Kuman was one of them,” Perrin said
impassively. “How many more Guarders know my family? Where’s
Riplak? Was it Kuman or Riplak that knew the kitchen door didn’t
latch properly? Or both? And they knew exactly which doors to try:
the study and the master bedroom. The mansion has fourteen doors on
the main floor, Shem. They knew which two to check. Who else—”

A quiet knock came at the door.

The men looked up to see two well-dressed
women: one older and very round, the other younger and very tall.
The older woman had uniforms draped over her chubby arm, and she
sniffled.

The younger woman, shapely and blonde but
with a tear-stained face cried out, “Perrin!” and rushed to
him.

He stood automatically and she threw her arms
around him.

Shem got up too but stopped, astonished, when
the beautiful woman kissed Perrin’s neck.

“You poor man! I’m so sorry! What can I do
for you?” She embraced him firmly and kissed his cheek, then kissed
him again and again, moving closer and closer to his mouth—

Shem’s eyes bulged. Idumeans had rather
extreme ways of administering comfort.

Perrin took her arms and pushed her away,
holding her at a distance. “Versula, I’ll be fine. Really.”

“That’s not the story we heard,” the older
woman said, giving him a motherly kiss on his other cheek—actually,
she had to jump a little to reach him—as Perrin released the blonde
woman.

Perrin glanced at Shem and nodded at the
women. “Mrs. Cush and Mrs. Thorne,” he curtly made their
introductions.

Mrs. Cush didn’t seem to think anything
unusual about his behavior, or her daughter’s excessive attempts to
comfort him. “It’s terrible. Just terrible. We’ve been at the
mansion all day, preparing a crate for you to take back of their
personal things. But I think they stole all of Joriana’s
dresses!”

“Mahrree already took them to Edge, Mrs.
Cush,” he said dully. “We need nothing else.”

“But maybe your children do, Perrin.” Mrs.
Cush gripped his arm. “They’d love to have remembrances. We can’t
send any of the furniture, since it belongs to the mansion, but
your father’s clothes, their writings, Joriana’s jewels and
hats—all that should go to Jaytsy and Peto.”

Shem stepped forward. “I’m sure they’d
appreciate it, ma’am.”

Mrs. Cush smiled. “And you are, most
undoubtedly,
Uncle Shem
, aren’t you?”

Shem blushed.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you. I’m Mrs.
Cush, and this is my daughter, Versula Thorne,” she made the proper
introductions.

Mrs. Thorne smiled and looked him up and
down, noticing him for the first time. “I see the fort at Edge gets
all the handsome, well-built soldiers. Baby tender indeed!”

Shem was sure he was nearly purple under her
intense gaze. He didn’t know a whole lot about Idumea, but he could
see why Papa told him to stay away from the city. Something in Mrs.
Thorne’s eyes made Shem want to wrap a blanket around himself.

Mrs. Cush held up the uniforms, still unfazed
by her daughter’s forwardness. “Perrin, you look terrible. Maybe
you hadn’t noticed. We borrowed these from the tailor shop for you
and the master sergeant for the evening. They should fit all right.
You need to look presentable for—” Her lip began to quiver, and her
daughter put her arm around her.

“It’s all right, Mother,” but Versula’s voice
quavered as well.

Perrin was unmoved by their emotion. “No,
thank you, Mrs. Cush. My parents won’t be buried in their best
clothing, so why should I attend in anything else than this?
Besides, they won’t see what I look like, and theirs was the only
opinion I cared for, aside from the Creator’s.”

Mrs. Cush turned to Shem. “Can you help him
see reason?”

He shook his head. “I haven’t had too much
success with that recently, ma’am.”

Mrs. Cush gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’ll
leave these here, just in case. There’s a washing room with
supplies down the hall.” Mrs. Cush ran a motherly hand across
Perrin’s stubbly chin to remind him he was in need of a shave, but
he recoiled at her touch.

If she noticed, she didn’t act like it. “Come
by the mansion tonight, after everything, dear,” she said
pleasantly, either out of habit or amnesia. “There are many guards,
and you and the master sergeant can sleep comfortably there. Show
him around the place.”

“Why?” Perrin said shortly. “It’s not my
home. It’s not
theirs
anymore, either. It belongs to the
High General of Idumea. I’m sure you and Cush will be most
comfortable there.”

Mrs. Cush flinched as if she had been struck.
“Why, I . . . Perrin, no one knows these things—”

“I thank you for your trouble,” he cut her
off. “The master sergeant and I will stay in the guest quarters at
the garrison. That’s my home now in Idumea.” He sat down and
focused on the wall.

Shem shrugged apologetically at Mrs. Cush,
and the two women nodded back. After a half-hearted wave of
farewell, Mrs. Cush left, but Versula Thorne hesitated.

“Perrin?”

She watched him earnestly, but he didn’t
respond. After an uncomfortable moment, Mrs. Thorne followed after
her mother.

Perrin finally glanced at the door to see
that they were alone. “By the way, Shem, Mahrree knows all about
Versula Thorne. She does
not
, however, need to know about
what just happened there.”

Still stunned by ‘what just happened there,’
Shem nodded obediently. “Of course. I agree.” Besides, what in the
world would he say to Mahrree about Versula Thorne?

“And Shem—only you and I will touch the
coffins. No one else. Are you up to it?”

“Of course.”

---

An hour later two men in filthy uniforms with
disheveled hair littered with bits of straw and no caps—neither man
was sure just when or where they lost them—and with cuts and
bruises on their faces stood at attention as the carriage bier
carrying the two coffins made its way to the garrison cemetery. A
bright sword laid on his coffin, a branch of newly blossomed lilacs
laid on hers.

It was a short trip from the hospital, but by
tradition the bier had traveled slowly the long way—up past the
Administrator Headquarters, through the university, along the
mansion district, and through the garrison.

Every road was lined with thousands of people
standing shoulder to shoulder to bid farewell to the High General
and his wife. Women wept, men stood at attention even if they had
never worn the uniform, and children quieted as the bier passed,
feeling the suffocating gloom that came over Idumea.

Soldiers, more than ten thousand, had come
from the garrison and nearby forts to pay their respect. Each was
in full dress uniform and lined the roads throughout the garrison,
saluting as the bier passed them. There was no section of road that
was not heavily protected.

The significance of that coverage was not
lost on Colonel Shin. If only it had been that fortified two days
ago none of this would be happening now.

A steady drum beat began from a soldier
behind Colonel Shin and Master Sergeant Zenos. The bier drawn by
the single massive black horse came into view over the slight hill
to the waiting line of officers who blocked the road of the burial
grounds and signaled the end of the procession.

A large group of officers’ wives and other
women stood glum and sniffling on the other side of the road. Mrs.
Cush stepped up to the carriage, kissed her fingers, and touched
Joriana’s coffin as it passed before stepping back into the huddle
of women. Her daughter put her arm around her as she began to
sob.

The horse was stopped in front of the two
rows of soldiers that lined the path from the road to the waiting
graves. Tradition was that the coffins be handed down between the
soldiers, so that all hands could help bring the fallen to their
final resting places.

But tradition was about to be broken.

The colonel and the sergeant walked
unexpectedly to the bier as the major in charge of the burial began
to signal to a group of soldiers to retrieve the coffins.

“My parents, my duty,” Colonel Shin told him.
He stepped to the head of his father’s coffin, carefully removed
the sword, and placed it on top of his mother’s box. He stood on
one side while the master sergeant took the other.

The line of officers looked at each other,
and several began to step out of line. They had allowed the two men
to put the coffins on the bier at the hospital alone—Colonel Shin
laying the general’s sword and the flowers he cut from a nearby
bush on their caskets—but this was too much.

But Cush shook his head and held out an arm
to stop the man closest to him. The officers reluctantly stepped
back into line with pained expressions on their faces as they
watched the colonel and the sergeant strain to pull the coffin
partially off the bier.

Colonel Shin crouched to take the front, and
the sergeant positioned himself to take the back. In silence they
dragged the rest of the coffin out and hefted it onto their
shoulders. Slowly they walked the coffin to the rows of
soldiers.

The rows shifted uncertainly until, finally
recognizing that the coffin wasn’t about to be handed off to them,
all of the soldiers took a large step backward to allow the two men
enough room to make their way down the gently sloping hillside.
Shin and Zenos struggled visibly with the weight and the
unpredictability of the soft, wet ground. Once the colonel slipped
a little, then the sergeant, but they didn’t drop their precious
load. More than once a soldier broke from the line to come forward
to help, but was ignored.

After passing more than two hundred men, Shin
and Zenos reached the open grave. Still with no words, the two men
awkwardly lowered the coffin to the ground and set it painstakingly
on the ropes that would lower it in the hole.

Master Sergeant Zenos stood back up, but the
colonel kneeled next to the coffin. He ran his hand along it
tenderly and paused. For a moment he didn’t move.

Nor did any of the hundreds watching him.

Eventually he kissed the coffin, patted it,
got back to his feet, and looked up the hill at the carriage.

As he and the sergeant trudged up the soggy
slope together, most of the soldiers were no longer officially at
attention. Sniffing and dropping a few tears, even if no one moved,
were considered violations. But no one noticed because everyone was
absorbed in watching the colonel.

The scene at the bier played out again as the
coffin of Mrs. Shin was dragged out, this time with less trouble
than the general’s. Colonel Shin removed the flowers and sword, and
placed them silently in the bed of the carriage.

Even among the line of officers there was now
a great deal of sniffing, throat clearing, and vague concealing
coughs.

Again Colonel Shin took the front and
Sergeant Zenos took the back, heaved the coffin on their shoulders,
and plodded carefully to the graves between the soldiers, some who
began to weep.

The colonel and the master sergeant set the
coffin down by the first. Shin leaned over the wooden box holding
his mother and kissed it. Then he kneeled between the two boxes,
with a hand on each one, and bowed his head.

Not even the birds that normally darted among
the tall trees of the burial ground dared to make a sound.