“To keep his mouth shut?”
Pat hesitated. “I’ll threaten to break his arms if he breathes a word.”.
“All right then. The speaker and the vice president are not to know. They’d spill it out in a heartbeat.”
“They’ll be furious when they find out.”
“Let them. I’ll have Vincent call a mobilization drill. It was slated for next month anyhow. We can use the excuse that it was getting too routine.”
“The stock market boys, the factory owners, will scream. Their schedules are planned around losing their men four weeks from now.”
“Let them scream. I’ll make some statement about it being a realistic drill this time. We shift the maneuver area to our grounds on the Chin territory.”
Pat started to shake his head. “Gods, Andrew. The Chin will read into that. Hell, one of them breaks wind, and they spend days reading into it. They’ll think our holding maneuvers on their territory is a veiled threat.”
“Let them think what they want.”
“I want a meeting with Webster, Varinnia Ferguson, and a few people she trusts first thing in the morning. We’re going over everything Cromwell told us-in fact, I want him here, too. We have precious little time, but we have to start thinking about counters to everything he says they have.”
Pat smiled.
“What is it?”
“A bit like the old days again.”
“I’d prefer something different.”
Pat solemnly nodded. “Yes, Andrew, I agree.”
Andrew returned to his desk and looked at the calendar page set to one side. “Damn. There’s a dinner tonight with some Chin congressmen. I can’t cancel that. Then a play.”
“Better go. Besides, I heard it’s a good one. The Yankee and the Boyar’s Daughter.”
“Oh, God, not another one.”
Pat smiled. “Complete with tableau of the historic victory at the First Battle of Suzdal. Performed in English, no less, with Dimitri Vasiliovich as the Yankee.”
“It sounds like you actually enjoyed it.”
“Oh, I did. Rare fine good acting it was.”
Andrew groaned. He was bored to death with the utter silliness of patriotic plays, which had become the rage of late, all but taking Shakespeare off of Players Row. But if he did not attend, the more astute might read something into it, put it together with the change in the summer mobilization rehearsal. No, he would have to attend and listen to Dimitri’s hysterical overacting.
“All right, then. Tomorrow I’ll clear my schedule. You get word to Webster and Ferguson, make it first thing in the morning. I think our focus at the start should be the navy, what we can do there within the next couple of weeks. Let’s plan to meet at the shipyard.”
His tone indicated that the conversation was at an end, and that bothered him. This was Pat, after all, not someone who had to be eased out of the office so that the next appointment could be kept.
“Andrew?”
He nodded, already knowing what was to be asked. “Let’s just keep the word about your boy between us for right now. Cromwell kept it till he could meet with you. I trust he’ll continue to keep it. Perhaps he was wrong after all.”
Pat smiled. “I don’t believe it for a minute, Andrew. Do you?”
“No,” Andrew lied, “of course not.”
TEN
The sun was rising as Abraham Keane, riding alone, crested the ridgeline. Before him the encampment of the Golden Yurt was spread out across the open plains, the early morning light casting long shadows, the steppe to the west disappearing into a dark blue horizon.
A shaman’s chants drifted on the hot wind. Smoke curled from campfires. Some cubs, engaged in a passionately fought game, rode in swirling knots, sweeping down to reach for the ball. Not so long ago he knew that the bag would have contained a human head. Now it was just stuffed with old felt rags-at least he hoped that was the case.
He saw the Qar Qarth riding out from behind his yurt, mounted on his favorite stallion, a magnificent white animal. The two of them were a striking sight. The horse pranced, legs raised high, and Jurak was obviously enjoying the ride, knowing that all eyes were upon him.
Abe leaned back in his saddle, taking in the view, enjoying the moment. The thought of going back to the cities of the west, to the crowds, the stench, the noise, after riding patrols, after watching sunrises and sunsets on the open plains where heaven and earth met on a horizon that seemed to disappear into eternity, was impossible to contemplate. This is the place where he wanted to stay.
Jurak drew closer, his mount kicking up plumes of dust. The cubs paused in their wild melee and bowed respectfully from the saddle, then returned to their pursuit once he had passed.
Abe stiffened and saluted as Jurak reined in by his side.
“The night passed well, Qar Qarth Jurak?”
“Yes, and yours?”
“Our circles are peaceful, as I see yours to be,” Abe replied, offering the ritual words that indicated he had come without warlike intent.
Jurak leaned over and affectionately patted the neck of his horse.
“You ride well,” Abe said.
“I have to in order to survive here. I wasn’t born to it the way my people are. I’ll admit that when I first came here, I hated riding. There’s something about being atop a beast that could kill you, and who at the same time is actually rather dull of mind, that bothered me.”
Abe laughed softly. “My father still misses his old war-horse, Mercury. He said Mercury was the only horse he ever knew that had brains.”
“I remember that horse. The battle at what you call Rocky Hill. Your father was a magnificent sight riding along the front line, followed by his battle standard. He was the incarnation of war at that moment. I’ll never forget the way his men cheered, and I knew that as long as he lived you would never be defeated. He has my respect.”
“I shall tell him you remember him thus. He will be honored.”
Jurak looked away, letting go of his reins so his horse could crop the short grass.
“There is a reason for your visit, son of Andrew Keane. The flyer that dropped the message over your camp last evening sent Hawthorne scurrying up here for one last talk, and now you have come at dawn. Hawthorne has already said his farewells. Why have you come back?”
Abe nodded, letting go of his reins as well. “I’ve been ordered to tell you something. It is not official. It came from my father to me, and no one else knows.”
He could see that he had Jurak’s interest.
“Go on, then.”
“My father conveys to you his respects.”
“Yes, the usual formula between rulers, but what is the message?”
“You are not to move south.”
“I have argued this point with your General Hawthorne for over half a moon.” Jurak pointed back to the regimental encampment where even now the tents were being struck, the column forming up. “Our talks ended with no resolution. Why do you come back here alone to repeat yet again that which we could not agree upon? Does your general know you are doing this?”
“Yes, sir. He gave his permission.”
“Why?”
“Sir, he said that,” and Abraham hesitated, “that you respected me because of my blood and would believe me. I asked as well to come alone.”
Jurak laughed. “You are brave like your father.”
“I know I have nothing to fear from you.”
“At this moment, yet.”
“I would like to think it would stay that way.”
In the weeks that he had come to know Jurak, Abe felt that he had learned some of the nuances of this leader of the Bantags. He had heard Cromwell talk about it back at the academy, how when you lived with them, you learned quickly to recognize each as an individual rather than as part of a faceless horde. You knew who was more cruel than normal, who might give a favored pet an extra scrap of food, when someone was angry, happy, sad, or vengeful. In short, you learned things about them the same way you did about humans.